Die Hard with a Stargate
by Salchat
Summary: A group of bad guys take over the Control Tower and Sheppard has to do a Bruce Willis impression! Set after S01 E13, Hotzone.
1. Prologue

**A/N**: I decided, seeing as this will be my first Christmas as a fanfiction writer, that I'd like to write a Christmassy story to say thank you to all my readers (and especially my lovely reviewers) who have joined me on my writing journey since I began in April (and any new readers too, of course!). A Stargate Atlantis version of the 1988 Bruce Willis movie seemed like a fun idea, so here it is!

I have had to change some parts and add in some extras, such as the short prologue, so that the story would make sense, but I've tried to put in as many equivalents to the best scenes as I could and have used quite a lot of the original dialogue.

It is set in Season One, following Episode Thirteen, Hotzone, where Atlantis is quarantined due to a nanovirus outbreak. I hope you enjoy it!

**Die Hard with a Stargate**

**Prologue**

It was buried when they found it. Buried, ages deep, in thousands of years of rot and decay, hidden amid the dark secrets of time and earth and small creeping things. Only an intermittent pulse of energy told a story of the treasures that lay below.

They dug. A doorway was uncovered. A magic touch and the doors slid open, a faint, shuddering grate the only hint of their immense age and the long, long years of their gradual interment.

The four team-mates entered, weapons at the ready because, although they knew they were the first to enter in untold years, they also knew that, in the Pegasus Galaxy, trouble would always find those who didn't expect it and, very often, those who did. The room lit and a central console was revealed. A casual swipe of a hand and the console glowed with life. Then came the sound of connections being made, interfacing between the Ancient and the modern, followed by noises of interest and pleasure and excitement from one team member, increasingly interspersed with expressions of impatience from the others as time passed. Eventually, there was something to report.

"It's a kind of time capsule, a message in a bottle. Look, I've run it through a translator. You're gonna love this!"

They read:

_I, Cadrocles_ _of the Ancients, leave this my testament, in the hope that one day others of my kind will return. The enemy are strong and we must abandon our beautiful city and seek a life elsewhere or ascend, each according to our individual determination. There is so much that must be left behind; so much that we cannot bring with us on our desperate flight. And so I leave these directions, so that in the far distant future, the things that are lost may be found, only by those children of our bloodline who are most worthy. The treasures that are dearest to our hearts, that retain or increase their value down the long ages of our absence, those shining prizes of incalculable worth..."_

There was more, and excited eyes skimmed faster and faster, noting detailed maps, plans and specifications; everything, in fact, that was needed to access a secret vault in Atlantis, City of the Ancients.

Three of the team members looked up. Eyes met, narrowed in speculation.

"It'll take some planning."

"Worth it, though, if what this guy says is true!"

"He doesn't actually say what's in there."

"Did you even read it? 'Treasures'? 'Shining'? 'Increase their value'? Who cares, as long as it's worth something!"

"It'll be precious materials; alloys, rare crystals and so on. Things we can sell!"

The fourth man looked up and spoke, his voice hard and cold. "Things _I _can sell and you will be allowed a certain specified percentage."

"Yeah, Boss, sure. Erm... Anyway, where it says, 'only by the children of our bloodline who are most worthy'? That implies some kind of defence, maybe a series of barriers."

"You can do it?"

"Of course! Best tech guy in the galaxy here! But you know that."

"You'd better be." He stepped closer, a thinly veiled threat in his voice. "I'll make sure we get into the City and get out, but you'd better be able to access the vault!"

"Yeah, sure!" He tittered nervously. "Those are some tough-guy types, the Atlanteans! Bet you're looking forward to taking them on!"

"Tough? We'll see." His pale grey eyes ran over the console. "Download everything. Then destroy it."

"Yes, Boss!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining_," sang Ford.

John gritted his teeth.

"_It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth. _Come on, Sir, join in!"

"I don't feel like singing, Ford."

John felt Ford's sidelong glance, knowing what was going through his mind beneath the Christmas cheer and willing him to leave the subject alone.

"This one's my Grandma's favourite!" said Ford, determinedly cheerful, and carried on. "_Long lay the world, in sin and error pining_..."

John stared stonily ahead at the white-tipped grey waves and the equally grey sky above them. He might have thought about sending the Jumper skimming along the tops of the white caps just for fun, but John was decidedly not in a fun mood. Ford approached the climax of the carol and John cringed.

"O nigh-"

"Quit it, Ford!"

The Lieutenant broke off and shot John another sidelong glance. John could almost hear him thinking.

"Maybe if you..."

"Drop it."

"But if..."

"Ford!"

John heard the deep inhalation and then out tumbled, "If-you-just-said-sorry-to-Dr Weir-things-could-go-back-to-normal!"

He turned to face his second-in-command fully. "Drop it. That's an order!"

Ford dropped it and silence fell until he tentatively began humming 'O holy night' once more. John tried to concentrate on flying the Jumper and not think about anything else, but Elizabeth's words rang in his head: _That can never happen again._

_What? _he had felt like saying. _What can never happen again? Me thinking for myself? Making a decision using my best judgement of the situation?_

John realised he was gripping the Jumper controls too tightly and his lip was sore from being chewed. He forced himself to relax. _You have to trust me_, she had said. Did he trust Elizabeth? Did he trust the judgement of a civilian over his own? John realised Ford was speaking.

"Sir?"

"Yeah, Ford, sorry, I wasn't listening."

"That's okay, I was just saying, that thing?" He jerked his head over his shoulder. "Creepy, isn't it?"

John turned briefly to view the rear compartment, stacked with gifts of food and drink from the Athosians, and topped off by a large, strangely carved wooden figure.

"Yeah, gift for Elizabeth. I think Halling made it."

"Feels like it's watching you, though, doesn't it? Those eyes?"

John shrugged.

"Hey, did you hear about Markham and Stackhouse and the Christmas tree?"

John shrugged again and made an indeterminate noise. He'd heard the story, but let Ford continue.

"So, they went to the mainland to get a tree for the Gateroom and a bunch of Athosian kids showed them this massive one..."

John's thoughts drifted again to the nanovirus outbreak. _Do you still think it was a good idea? _Elizabeth had said. _Yes, dammit, _he thought, _what else was I supposed to do, sit and wait? _Petersen had been heading for the Gateroom, for Elizabeth. How could he have just sat back and let that happen? And he realised it hadn't worked out too well, with Petersen making it to the transporter and then the Mess Hall, but... John knew he'd make the same decision again: the decision to break quarantine to protect Elizabeth.

"They tried to fasten it to the roof of the Jumper, but they couldn't get it up there, so they just stuffed it right inside and shut the hatch quick so it wouldn't spring out again."

John smiled, but all he heard was Elizabeth, disappointed with him, relaying General O'Neill's and Colonel Sumner's warnings that he didn't respect the chain of command and, the words that hurt the most: _You endangered yourself and the lives of many others._

"And they're flying back to Atlantis and Stackhouse can't even sit down, cos there's branches everywhere and then they hear this mad squealing and this furry thing jumps out of the branches and latches on to Stackhouse's hair."

_...you have to trust me..._

"And Stackhouse is screaming and trying to get this thing off and all Markham does is turn round and say... Sir?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Um... your lip's bleeding."

"Oh, yeah." John wiped his chin with the back of one hand and tried not to chew his lip any more. He focussed on the grey clouds ahead of him and the sleet now battering the windscreen. "You going to the party, Ford?"

"Yeah, sure I'm going, once this lot's unloaded. Did you see there's some bottles of that berry wine or whatever it is?"

"Yeah, I did, and Teyla said it's strong stuff. Don't overdo it in front of our new friends!"

The Athosians had started it, wanting to continue their tradition of a mid-winter celebration in their new home on the mainland. Elizabeth had taken up the idea and, although it wasn't Christmas time on Earth, she decided for the sake of morale, that it would be Christmas on Atlantis; or Hanukkah; or just a good party. Then she'd decided to invite along a few of the trading partners that Teyla had introduced them to and the whole thing, in John's opinion, started to get a bit out of hand.

Teyla was spending the time celebrating with her people but John thought she would probably have stayed on Atlantis if she hadn't still been disappointed with him too. _You should not have_ _undermined Elizabeth's authority..._

John brought up the HUD, visibility being reduced nearly to zero by the driving sleet. He'd been glad to take Teyla to the mainland and pick up the gifts from the Athosians. He'd still have to go to the party, put in an appearance, do the smiling and shaking of hands or whatever each culture required by way of formal greeting. But the festivities would already be well underway by the time he got back and got changed and maybe nobody would notice if he didn't stay long.

John peered at the HUD, starting to chew his lip again and being reminded by a sharp pain not to. His display marked the Jumper bay as inaccessible.

"Atlantis, this is Jumper One approaching, is there a problem with the Jumper bay, over?"

"Jumper One, this is Atlantis, yes, Jumper bay temporarily out of action, can you set down on one of the piers, over?"

"Sure thing, Atlantis, over and out."

"What's up with the Jumper bay, Sir?" asked Ford.

John shrugged. "Didn't say. Some kind of technical glitch, I guess."

John guided the Jumper down to the broad surface of the east pier, landing as close to the inner area of the City as he could. He powered down. He sat and rubbed his face with both hands, then pushed his fingers through his hair, over his tense scalp. Then he let both hands rest on the arms of his seat, tipped his head back and stared at the roof.

"Sir?"

"Yeah, okay, moving now." John stood up and looked at the cargo. "Look, you stay with the Jumper, I'll go and see what the problem is. Either I'll come back and take her up or I'll send down some men to help you unload."

"You sure you don't want to take that creepy thing with you?"

John smirked. "It'll be company for you while you wait." He released the hatch and started to edge past the boxes and crates. "Oh and I don't suppose anyone would notice if a few of those little cake-things went missing... while you were waiting."

Ford grinned. "Me and Mr Creepy here'll make ourselves at home!"

"You do that."

oOo

The plan was working. It had taken some weeks to establish his identity on Faron, but Zav was a man of great resource as well as technical skill and he had managed to bribe his way onto the Faronan trading council and was now one of the privileged few invited to attend the winter festival on Atlantis. Christmas, they called it; Zav didn't care what it was called as long as it gave him access to Atlantis' systems. Which it had. Pretending to be overawed by the magnificence of Atlantis' Gateroom, Zav had wandered up the stairs, smiling goofily, his head twisting here and there to take in the splendour. He had walked backward a few steps, staring at the huge tree at the head of the staircase and stumbled into one of the control consoles, whereupon he was gently but firmly escorted back to the lower level. It was too late by then, though. Zav had slipped his wafer-thin, virus-carrying crystal beneath one of the Ancient control crystals on the console, where it would stay nicely hidden, doing its work ever-so-gradually. It had already begun, he thought, taking a canapé and a glass of something fizzy; there was a certain amount of low-level busyness to be seen on the control level which indicated that some nice little glitches were in progress. Zav smiled a brilliant smile at a passing waiter and took another canapé.

oOo

Sergeant Bates was pissed. How many chances did he and the Marines get to party? _Very few, and now none_, he thought, bitterly. Even if they couldn't have had any of that weird frothy beer they'd traded for, or the kick-ass Athosian wine, they still could have eaten the canapés. And mingled. Bates liked canapes. And mingling. And then Grodin had to spot something weird on the sensors: two irregular patches of life signs on the far south edge of the lower city. _Send in the Marines..._

oOo

Elizabeth stood at the head of the main staircase and gave a short speech. She welcomed her guests, congratulated the expedition members on what they had achieved so far and explained a little about her hopes for the future. It was a very smooth, practiced performance and when it was finished and the applause was still ringing in her ears, Elizabeth was aware that she'd spoken, but couldn't recall anything that she'd said. She looked out over the Gateroom, glad that she'd stopped the biology team fixing up any more Pegasus holly; the sticky tape they'd used would take ages to get off as it was. She turned around to the Christmas tree with its homemade fairy lights and other improvised decorations. The spicy aroma of pine needles reminded her of Christmases on Earth.

"That was a nice speech, Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Carson." She smiled briefly.

He fidgeted. "You're doing a grand job, you know, leading us all. We don't say it, but we think it."

"I try."

"The Major thinks so too!"

She turned to face the doctor directly.

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Oh, well, Teyla wanted to go to the mainland..."

She regarded him sceptically.

"Excuse me, Dr Weir?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"We're experiencing a few small problems with the City systems."

"Problems?"

"The Jumper bay doors won't open and the comms are only working intermittently. Major Sheppard had to land on the East Pier."

_At least he's back, _thought Elizabeth. She said, "Have you informed Dr McKay?"

"Ah, no... Dr McKay went down to the lower city, westside, to look at some kind of lab one of the Marine teams found recently and, as I said, the comms are patchy, so..."

"Dr Zelenka?"

"Yes, he's working on it."

"Keep me informed, Peter."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. It wasn't like Rodney to pass up party food, or indeed any food. _What's he doing down there? _she thought. _And where's John got to?_

oOo

John pounded up the stairs, welcoming the chance for some hard, physical work while simultaneously worrying that something was wrong. Transporters not working, comms patchy, what was going on? He'd swing by the armoury, drop off his P90 and tac vest and, after all this running and all these stairs, would definitely have to stop off at his quarters for a shower and change. Then, yes, he would put in an appearance at the party, but at least now he'd have an excuse to hang around the control room and not talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary.

His boots clanged on the metal staircase taking him higher and higher up the Control Tower.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rodney sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by dismembered parts of Ancient devices, like a small boy with his brand new Meccano set. He hummed quietly to himself, tinkering with something that resembled a waffle iron; he wasn't sure what it was supposed to do, or even if it was just part of something bigger, but therein lay the joy of tinkering as far as Rodney was concerned. He set the object down in his lap and reached out for another cookie, reflecting that his childhood Christmases had never been as good as this.

Rodney had decided to avoid the party and, in fact, the central city altogether. John was in a bad mood; Elizabeth, though she hid it better, was also upset. Then this repair shop or junk yard or whatever-it-was had been discovered and Rodney's instinct for avoiding messy emotions had kicked in. He grabbed a couple of Marines and a load of food from the kitchens and set off for a nice peaceful day and evening; and maybe some of tomorrow as well. So far the two Marines had been fine with the whole deal; he had brought them a large pie each and had fed them and then shooed them off, rather like pacifying wild lions with chunks of raw meat, he thought.

Only now there did seem to be a few rumblings in the jungle going on. He could hear them, chattering inanely, and he hoped they weren't after his cookies because they weren't getting any. Rodney was a black hole as far as cookies were concerned and these babies were well within his event horizon.

There was a hovering presence and Rodney put his hand over the box of cookies.

"Yes, what?"

"Comms are down, Sir. We should head back."

"What? Head back? Ridiculous!" Rodney reached out and snagged the edge of his laptop, dragging it closer. "Let's see... City systems... Comms glitchy, something happening in the Jumper bay... Oh, no way are we going back, Sergeant! The transporters are down and I'd have to walk! Not a chance!"

"Sir, it's SOP..."

"Don't start quoting protocols at me! Look!" He jabbed a finger at a row of unintelligible code. "That, right there! That, unless I'm very much mistaken, (which, hello? It's me, so that's highly unlikely) is Zelenka's fine Czech hand! Zelenka's dealing with it and you're here to guard my extremely important work, so... get guarding! Go on, shoo!" He took another cookie from the box and bit it aggressively, with the air of a man not to be moved by anything short of fire, flood or Wraith attack. The Marine backed off.

oOo

John had taken off his boots and socks and then hastily thrown the socks in the laundry bin and slammed the lid. He had got as far as undoing his shirt buttons when the door chimed.

"Come in!"

Elizabeth entered and gave him a tentative half smile.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were..."

"About to have a shower?"

"And then help me entertain our guests?"

"Of course!" John said, as if he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do.

"Well, good!" she said, her smile growing. "And, I'm glad we can move on from our disagreement." John tensed. "I think we've both learned something." He frowned. "Come to understand each other and our respective roles a little better."

"I already understood my 'role' just fine," said John.

"Come on, John," Elizabeth said, her smile a little more forced. "We both know you made a mistake!"

"I did what I did to protect you, Elizabeth. That's my 'role'."

Her face hardened and John saw her knuckles whiten as her fists clenched by her sides. "I've been very clear about this, but if you need to hear it again..."

"I don't."

"I think you do." Elizabeth's voice became dangerously quiet. "_I_ am in command here, John. _I_ bear responsibility for this expedition and, in light of the fact that we may have no contact with Earth for the foreseeable future, I have to maintain absolute authority!"

"But..."

"No! You will hear this!" She glared at him, daring him to interrupt again. "We face so many threats! Even apart from the Wraith, we have the Genii and other unknown hostiles and then there's the constant worry of running out of food, medical supplies, ammunition! I need all my senior team behind me, putting up a united front, or this whole expedition could fall apart!"

John glared back at Elizabeth. How could she think he didn't know these things? How many times had he put his life on the line for the expedition, for her? What did she think would have happened if he hadn't disobeyed her and broken quarantine? Petersen would have made it to the control room, that's what would've happened and John would've had to save everyone's asses anyway.

"You said I need to trust you. Maybe you need to trust me too," he snarled.

Elizabeth's eyes widened and she took a breath to reply, but then the door chimed once more and Carson stood uncertainly on the threshold.

"Oh, Elizabeth, I'm glad I've found you. The Faronan councillors were wondering where you were and Grodin wanted you; something about the ground level entrances?"

"I'll be right there."

Carson's eyes flicked between John and Elizabeth. "I'll just..." He gestured over his shoulder and left hastily.

They looked at each other, awkwardly.

"Look, Elizabeth..." John began.

"I need you up there. Don't take too long," she said abruptly. Then she was gone.

John stared at the floor, frowning bleakly, his hands opening and closing by his sides as if wanting to grasp a weapon. Then he shook himself and continued undressing, flinging his thigh holster on the bed and, when his shirt buttons wouldn't co-operate, ripping it off, the remaining few buttons scattering on the floor. He watched as they rolled away under the furniture, knowing he'd have to track them all down and sew them on again.

"That's great, John. Good job," he rebuked himself. "Very mature."

oOo

Zelenka could feel Kavanagh hovering at his shoulder.

"Why don't you...?"

"Děkuji, I can manage."

A sarcastic laugh made Zelenka grit his teeth. He carried on trying to sort out the tangle of code in front of him, tracing the problem to its source through convoluted pathways and redundant loops. Kavanagh wandered away, the lure of sharing his opinions with unsuspecting off-worlders no doubt too great to resist.

Then the Gate activated. The alarm blared.

"Unscheduled off-world activation! Raising the shield."

Elizabeth was there at Grodin's shoulder.

"The shield's off-line!" Grodin tapped the control again and again. "I can't raise it, Dr Weir!"

Elizabeth spun round. "Radek!"

"Working on it!"

The chevrons locked and the event horizon boiled out into the Gateroom and then snapped back and settled.

"Too late!" Elizabeth said.

The Marines had swarmed forward to flank the Gate. There were only six men and Zelenka remembered Bates taking two teams to the lower City and all those acting as waiting staff and helping in the kitchens. He began to type furiously; whoever was coming through, if they wanted Atlantis they would not get control if he could stop them!

oOo

Elizabeth stood on the balcony, firmly, her chin raised, the picture of a strong leader. She was glad to see her personnel had herded the guests to the back of the room to protect them.

Streaks of green light suddenly shot through the Gate; all around the room, people began falling to the ground, stunned. The Marines went down first and Elizabeth felt the beginnings of panic. Then through the Gate, in a flurry of stunner fire, stepped six men, followed by one man alone, followed by another group of six, Elizabeth counted. The twelve armed men kept firing their stunners into the air, the deafening noise reverberating around the room, making the crowd of people flinch away and press toward the walls.

The lone man waved a hand and the stunner fire stopped. "Disarm them!" he said, gesturing to the Marines. Two of the men confiscated all of the Marine's weapons and then set about tying them up. The rest of the men, forming a semicircle about their leader, kept their weapons trained firmly on the party-goers. The leader looked around the room as if admiring a prize, Elizabeth thought. She held herself in check; she would not give up Atlantis without a fight, but neither would she show her hand too soon. She waited.

oOo

John had not finished undressing and hurried into the shower. He had sat down on the bed, unloaded and reloaded his Beretta a couple of times, then stared at his toes, knowing he was being petty in this small act of defiance but deciding he would keep Elizabeth waiting nonetheless. Then the Gate alarm sounded. John knew there were no teams off-world. He wondered if it could be a trading group, late to the party; the shield would take care of any unknowns so he wasn't unduly worried.

Then came the sound of weapons fire, heard even through several floors; some kind of energy weapon, without even the comforting rattle of returning P90s. These thoughts had raced through John's head as he snatched up his Beretta and pelted, barefoot, out of the door, swore at the lifeless transporter, then swerved for the stairs. The weapons fire had stopped and the stairwell was eerily quiet, just the pad of his feet on the treads and the in and out of his steady, deep breaths. He emerged onto the Gate level, cautiously, Beretta held before him, and approached the Gateroom. The door would open automatically, revealing his presence. He sidled up and placed his hand on the control, allowing it to open just fractionally, just enough to observe.

oOo

The plan was proceeding smoothly. Some of Atlantis' forces had been diverted by a carefully planted false alarm, so there weren't too many to be dealt with when they had come through the Gate. The rest appeared to be frightened civilians, easily contained. His eyes scanned the crowd and settled on one cowering man, dressed in a bright orange and purple tunic, his arms thrown protectively over his head.

"You can drop the act, now, Zav!" The man straightened up, a broad grin spreading over his face.

"Sure thing, Boss!" He stepped out of the crowd and was handed a case of equipment by one of the men. "Time for me to get to work?"

A raised finger stopped him. "Not quite yet, I think. A demonstration is appropriate, at this point." He looked around and, raising his voice, addressed the crowd. "My name is Hanzar Grubin," he said importantly, "And although that may be a name you have not heard before... it is not a name you will ever forget!"

The crowd shifted uneasily as Grubin continued. "I am not here to harm you," he said. "Merely to collect certain assets." He paused. "However, you must understand that, for the duration, I am in charge! There will be no escape attempts, no tricks, no trouble!" He swiftly marched up to the crowd, selected a brightly clad Faronan, whipped a pistol out of his pocket and fired it. The man fell dead, a hole between his eyes and the crowd pulled away, some screaming.

A clear voice rang out, halting the panic. "You said we wouldn't be harmed!"

Grubin looked up. "Ah, the renowned Dr Elizabeth Weir!" He gestured to two of his men, who sped up the stairs and forced Dr Weir and two other Atlanteans down to the Gate level, their weapons jabbing in harsh encouragement.

"Dr Weir!" said Grubin. "And..." He regarded the short, fuzzy-haired man and the younger, dark one and his eyes flicked up to the Control room. "Verren, that level should have been secured as soon as we came through."

"Don't worry, Boss," said Zav, "nobody could've stopped my virus! The tower's secure!"

"Put them with the others," snapped Grubin. "Zav! You know what to do!"

Zav nodded to another man who held a large equipment case and they headed out, directions memorized, the secret vault their destination.

oOo

John, watching through the narrow slit between the sliding doors, couldn't see the man, Grubin, but he had seen and heard enough. He ran. There was no way he could take them all alone, armed only with a handgun. The armoury; he'd get kitted up, take them out one by one. He could do that. He'd done it before. His heart pounded as his bare feet slapped on the smooth surface of Atlantis' hallways. _Boots would've been nice, _he thought.

The armoury was locked and no amount of playing with the crystals would move the door. John tried force, pushing with the full weight of his body. Then he tried breaking off a section of a nearby sculpture to see if he could jam it in the door and lever them apart. They were immovable. John stood, in thought. He didn't panic, didn't seethe with frustration; he grew still and cunning and considered his problems and assets; how he could solve those problems and possibly strip others of their assets. His eyes narrowed with a forming plan and he moved off purposefully, almost silently, melting away into the shadows.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Ford finished his fifth Athosian cake and sighed heavily. "If you keep glaring at me like that I'm gonna use you for target practice!"

The wooden figure continued to regard Ford with blank, accusing eyes. Ford was getting impatient. Sheppard had been gone nearly an hour and he had discovered that the comms weren't working. Was anyone coming or not?

"So, Woody, I think I've given the Major long enough. You stay here and guard the snacks, I'm heading out." He looked at the windscreen, doubtfully; it was completely covered in snow. He pulled the hatch release. A blast of cold air and swirling snowflakes flew into the room. Ford squeezed past the crates and looked out. The air was white with snow, the surface of the pier covered and snow was beginning to mount up against the side of the Jumper. Ford shook his head. He'd be foolish to go out into that. Visibility was so poor he could easily walk off the side of the pier. He edged back past the crates and closed the hatch.

Ford turned to his companion. He picked up the statue and set it in the pilot's seat. "Looks like we're here for the night, buddy. What say we do some shots? No?"

oOo

Zav marched ahead, almost bouncing with confidence as he led the way to the location of the vault. They had studied for this day; studied and practiced and drilled until every man knew his part in the plan down to the last detail. They clattered down the stairwell, counting the levels, down and further down until they came to the floor where Zav knew he would find a place devoted to teaching and learning: the Hologram room.

Entering the room, he ignored the pedestal and the platform, circled round to the back and set down his case of equipment. He selected a tool and removed several panels from the wall, revealing a metallic surface over which a faint tracery of lines swirled. Zav hummed to himself, chirpily, reached down into his case and drew out a glove of softly shimmering fabric. He slipped it on and then, referring to a datapad, he placed his index finger on a particular curlicue and drew his finger over the pattern, following branches and swirls in the prescribed route set down in the instructions. His movement halted, he drew his hand back and the whole panel slid aside revealing a small cubbyhole, its only feature a door set in the far wall and a control panel of many tiny white keys off to one side. Zav smiled and wriggled his fingers inside the glove: his own invention, of which he was very proud, it was coated in a special film, impregnated with the genetic code that enabled one to use Ancient technology.

Zav reached into his case once more, held up a communicator and spoke into it. "Boss? I'm through the first layer." He paused, listening. "Yeah, it worked like a dream."

oOo

The leader, Grubin, spoke into a communicator, the device being of Genii provenance, as far as Elizabeth could tell.

"Did the glove work?" he said, which was puzzling. His mouth quirked into a grimly satisfied smile. Apparently it had worked. "How long?" he said. His brows drew together at the answer but he nodded and then slipped his communicator back into his pocket. Then he casually wandered over to the buffet table and began to eat.

Elizabeth heard an angry huff from behind her. The hostages had all been herded to one side of the Gate platform and made to sit, huddled together on the floor.

"How can the man eat?" said Carson. "The murderer!"

Elizabeth said nothing, but Zelenka responded, "He is a man with no soul, who cares nothing for the lives of others!"

"Yes, but what does he care for?" said Grodin, which was precisely what Elizabeth had been wondering. "Why is he here and where have those other men gone?"

"And what's going to happen to us?" put in Carson. "They said they've sealed the tower! Sealed us all in here!"

Elizabeth shuffled round to face them. "We all need to keep calm," she said. "They don't seem to be here to take over. They'll probably just take what they want and go." She tried to project calm confidence; panic would get more people killed. Carson nodded back and smiled slightly, playing along.

"We'll just sit tight and wait for them to leave!" he said.

Despite her calm facade, Elizabeth's thoughts were racing: Bates and his two teams of Marines, Rodney and his escort, Ford, still out there in the Jumper. And John. John, on his own, inside the tower. What would he do?

oOo

John was looking for something to burn. He had run down to level fifty-three and he had taken apart one of the door controls. There was nothing easily combustible within sight, so he tore a strip off the bottom edge of his t-shirt. He held it against the cannibalised door controls and did something that he knew would bring down Rodney's wrath. A jolt shot up his arm, the controls fizzed and spat sparks. Some landed on the scrap of t-shirt and John held it up in both hands and gently blew the tiny glow to a small flame. A jet of foam instantly shot down on him from somewhere in the ceiling, dousing the burning fabric.

John shook foam out of his hair. He hadn't realised Atlantis' fire prevention system was quite so sensitive. _One down,_ he thought, and set off again, at a run.

oOo

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodney noticed a window opening in his laptop. He still had the City systems up on the screen. "3xa - 53", it read. Rodney's retentive brain instantly translated the message. _Minor fire put out on level fifty-three? _he thought. _Sounds like Elizabeth needs to rein in the festivities_. He returned to his work.

oOo

On level forty-seven John pulled apart another door control and repeated the procedure, dropping the piece of his rapidly-depleting t-shirt before the fire-suppressant foam could get him again. Job done, he ran, only four levels to go this time.

oOo

Another message popped up: 3xa - 47. Rodney frowned and set down his cookie. Something wasn't right here. He waited and, less than five minutes later, up popped another window: 3xa - 43.

"Forty-one," said Rodney and was soon rewarded with the message: 3xa - 41.

"Hey, you! Sergeant!" Rodney swiftly gathered up his things and stuffed them into his pack.

"Sir?"

"The Major's in trouble, maybe everyone's in trouble, I don't know, but we need to move!"

"Sir, comms are down, how...?"

Rodney scowled. "Wasting time, Sergeant!" He rolled his eyes. "Someone set off the fire suppressant on four different levels in a sequence of prime numbers. Who do we know who would think of primes and be able to run that fast? Sheppard, that's who!"

oOo

Deyel flicked his blonde hair out of his eyes and stabbed angrily at the console. He thought himself pretty good at the tech side of interplanetary crime, better than his brother Verren, anyway, but this kit was seriously complex. An alert flashed up and Deyel had to wrestle with the console to get it to tell him what it meant: some kind of fire alarm, level fifty-three. Well, the place could burn, for all he cared. He carried on, sure that this thing must be able to display life signs. The Boss wanted to be sure there was nobody unaccounted for, and Deyel had cockily said he'd be able to get the Ancient tech to work, but the system was resisting him every step of the way. Must be Zav's virus got out of control. Deyel noticed two more fire alerts and then a fourth. Never mind life signs, this was someone trying to signal for help.

Deyel picked up his weapon and changed the setting from stun to kill. He leant over the balcony.

"Boss! Someone on level forty-one."

"Deal with them," said Grubin shortly.

oOo

John stared out into the darkness. The snow had stopped and Atlantis looked more than ever like a giant snowflake, sparkling in the night. John, oblivious to its beauty, searched the darkness for a signal.

"C'mon, Rodney! C'mon, you must've seen that!"

John squinted, his eyes still stinging from the fire-suppressant foam. His hair had dried, half in stiff spikes from the stuff, and his t-shirt hung in lop-sided tatters. Suddenly a red flicker climbed high into the sky somewhere out among the towers of the lower westside.

"Yes!" Rodney was on the case and John hoped he'd join forces with Bates. Together they'd find a way in. John turned away from the window, his next objective in mind; more firepower and maybe even some boots. Then he froze. A sound had come from the hallway; a faint squeak of someone trying and failing to move silently. John's eyes flashed around the room, planning his strategy.

oOo

Deyel had found the blackened door controls and the scrap of burnt fabric; he knew he was on the right track. He trod stealthily forward, alert for any sight or sound of his prey. A door had been left open: a clue, or a trap? Deyel sneered. It was probably just some frightened civilian, anyway, easily dealt with.

He stepped into the room. There was another door in the wall to his left and a long, padded settee against the opposite wall, slightly displaced as though someone were hiding behind it.

"I see where you're hiding, little mouse. Come out!" There was no response, so Deyel shrugged and let fly a few short blasts into the seat, burning holes into the fabric and releasing puffs of singed padding into the air. "Bet you wish you'd come out now, little mouse," he sneered, as he kicked the seat further away from the wall. There was nothing there.

The door opened behind him and he spun around, weapon firing a harsh scream of energy. He strode forward, still firing but as he stepped through into the next room a strong arm came around his neck and pulled hard and he felt the muzzle of a gun bite into his temple.

"Drop it!" a harsh voice snarled in his ear.

"No!" Deyel gambled.

"Drop it or I'll shoot!"

Deyel twisted in the man's grip, retaining his hold on his weapon and slamming the butt end hard back into the man's ribs. He heard a harsh grunt but the grip around his throat didn't slacken and Deyel could feel his limbs weakening and his mind becoming confused. He felt something crash into the side of his head and he dropped his weapon. A foot came out and it was kicked away across the room, then he was turned around and thrown against a wall, while his prey-turned-attacker stepped away and held his weapon steadily, trained on Deyel's heart.

The man was barefoot, dishevelled, his hair sticking up in untidy spikes. His shirt was torn revealing a darkening bruise down his side the exact size of the butt of Deyel's weapon. He was not an impressive sight, and yet, Deyel thought, he moved with the casual, brutal efficiency of a trained killer.

oOo

John looked at the man he had disarmed. He had taken a risk, when he could have taken a safe kill-shot from a distance, but he needed intel.

"Why are you here?"

"Why should I tell you?"

John put a single shot just to one side of the man's left kneecap. He flinched away, but his face whitened with anger rather than fear. The lights in the wall sconces flickered slightly.

"That's why," John said quietly.

"For the vault!" the man spat.

"What vault?"

The wall sconces flickered again, more noticeably. John's eyes met his enemy's and saw a gleam of anticipation. The lights went out. John fired, straight ahead, the discharge flashing bright in the blackness. He moved back and crouched suddenly, and felt the breeze of something whip past his face. He fired again, but then something hit his wrist and his numbed fingers opened. The weapon clattered to the floor. John struck out with his other hand, meeting cloth-covered flesh with a dull thud. He heard scrabbling boots and dived in their direction, missing his opponent and landing full-length on the floor. Footsteps receded and he jumped to his feet and followed them, arms stretched out in front of him.

John stopped, aware that he'd crossed the threshold and was in the hallway. He listened, but could hear nothing above his own harsh breaths. The lights went up suddenly and his opponent was flattened against the wall only a couple of yards distant. They surged together and grappled and fought savagely, both giving and receiving some powerful blows. John realised the other man was stronger and that they were moving gradually toward the stairwell. He tried to slam his opponent's head into one of the decorative sculptures, but at the last split second the man twisted out of his grip and ran. John launched himself once more and this time wrapped his arms around his opponent's thighs and brought him crashing to the ground. They rolled over and over together, each trying to get the upper hand, until their rolling brought them to the stairwell and they slid and bounced down the stairs, still fighting. They hit the landing, hard, John on top and he was about to launch another flurry of blows when he realised the man was still and limp. His head was at a strange angle, his neck broken.

John shuffled away to prop himself against the wall, his breath heaving, his whole body shaking with the flood of adrenaline. _Next time I'll just shoot, _he thought.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bates was still pissed. The weird life-sign readings were a bust; nothing that should have taken him and his Marines away from a well-earned party. Then, when he'd tried to check in, the comms were down. And the icing on the complete lack of Christmas cake? The transporters were down too.

It was snowing and they hadn't brought winter gear, so Bates had led his men as far toward the City centre as they could go without venturing outside. Eventually, though, the snow stopped and the sky cleared and Bates decided the most efficient route was over the surface. They marched steadily forward, the bright starlight shining on the snow. Bates reprimanded one of the men for scraping snow off a ledge in passing and shoving it down the neck of the man in front. If they made good time, though, and all turned out to be well, Bates decided he'd give the men a few minutes for horseplay before they went in.

"Sir, look!" One of the men was pointing toward the northwest and, against the black shapes of the faraway towers, Bates saw a red streak climb high into the sky and disappear. "A flare!"

Flares were part of standard kit when visiting remote parts of the city; there were too many ways communication could be compromised to dispense with simple kit that could save lives.

"Private Sorensen, respond to that flare!"

Sorensen took a flare from his tac vest and sent it streaking up into the sky. Bates knew Dr McKay was over that way; was he in trouble? There were too many unknowns. What Bates did know, however, was that there were technical problems with the City that only McKay could solve. They were nearly at the central hub; they'd skirt the city centre and head out on the west pier.

"Double time, men!" ordered Bates.

oOo

"You two! Watch the control tower! Let me know if you see anything!"

Rodney had set up camp in one of the inner towers of the west pier. He had sent up a flare so that Sheppard would know his message had been received and Rodney was on the case, and he had seen an answering flare that the two Marines had thought would be that grumpy Security Officer, Barnes, or whatever his name was.

Rodney settled down on the floor of the empty room, hunched over his laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating his frowning brow. He had dived into the complexity of the Ancient code that usually kept the City running smoothly and was shocked at what he found. It took him several minutes to get a feel for the forces at play, but his clever brain picked out the different intentions behind the code and he realised what was happening.

Into the placid waters of Atlantis' systems, somebody had dropped a nastily potent little fish that was swimming around disturbing the balance. Its aim, he worked out, was to isolate and lock down the control tower and seal certain internal doors. Then, it looked like Zelenka had tried to pour oil on the troubled waters, but to little effect because he hadn't got to the root of the problem, namely, the little fish. _Piranha, _thought Rodney, looking at the mess it had made, and was still making, judging by the random fluctuations in lighting and heating systems. There was also another element, which looked like... Rodney decided another analogy was in order. It looked like a kid who wouldn't share his toys and was trying to hide them from his siblings: Zelenka again, Rodney thought. All of which added up to a solid fact: Atlantis was under attack.

oOo

Grubin was relaxing in Elizabeth's office, his feet up on the desk. His men had the cowering civilians and tightly bound Marines covered and Zav was working his way through the defensive layers of the vault, albeit slowly. The plan was progressing. He saw one of the men approaching along the walkway.

"We can't raise Deyel, Boss" he said, holding up his communicator.

"Go and find him," said Grubin, shortly.

The man left and Grubin tried to relax once more. A niggling doubt had entered his mind, however, and he stood up and prowled along the walkway and stood looking down over the Gate level. The woman, Weir, looked up at him, her gaze strangely unafraid.

oOo

John crouched in a small cupboard near the Power Room. He took an inventory. He still had his Beretta, twelve rounds left, and now he had one of the enemy's energy weapons. It was a little longer than a P90 and had a sling, _which the dead guy should've used,_ thought John, grateful that he hadn't and John had been able to disarm him. He also had a Genii-type communicator, which worked like the radios they normally carried off-world, but, he thought, on a different frequency. He still didn't have any boots, his victim's feet being ridiculously large. Anyway, John hadn't really fancied literally stepping into a dead man's shoes.

So, that was what he had. What he knew didn't amount to much. They were here for the vault? What vault? What did they think it contained and how did they get their information? They seemed to know their way around Atlantis, but John didn't for a moment suspect the presence of a spy; they had only been in the Pegasus galaxy a few months and none of the members of the expedition had a motive.

John ran one hand through his hair and felt the stiff spikes from the fire suppressant. He knew he needed to get moving, contact Rodney, find a way of kicking these guys out of Atlantis, with extreme prejudice, if necessary. What he'd actually like to do was curl up in the cupboard and leave all the fighting to someone else for a change. He had bruises everywhere, a nasty scrape on one elbow and numerous other cuts and grazes. And he was cold. And tired. John wondered whether to dispense with the sweat-stained, blood-stained remnants of his t-shirt, but decided he'd keep it on, for now. Anyway, leaving all the fighting to someone else wasn't an option; there wasn't anyone else.

John fiddled with the controls on the radio and, following a burst of static, a voice spoke: "...no sign of Deyel, we'll keep looking..." So, the enemy comms were working. Had they disrupted the Ancient comm system only temporarily while they took over, or was it still down? The headsets linked into the Ancient system automatically while on Atlantis, but it was possible the normal radio handsets they linked to off-world would work, that is if the enemy weren't jamming other frequencies. And if they weren't jamming them, they could still be monitoring them in some way. It was risky, but John needed to contact Rodney, tell him what was going on.

oOo

"Deyel's dead, Boss! Looks like his neck's broken!"

Grubin frowned. Deyel dead. His eyes travelled to where Deyel's brother, Verren, stood guard over the prisoners.

"Boss?"

"Bring the body here."

oOo

Elizabeth had been watching Grubin. He had appeared so calm and in control but now she could see he was becoming irritated, speaking with gritted teeth into his radio, stalking about her office angrily. Then two men arrived in the Gateroom carrying a third between them. They set their burden down on the Gate platform and Elizabeth could see that he was dead. The tall, blonde, powerful-looking man who was guarding them turned round and rushed over to the body. He gave a howl of rage and ran up the stairs and into Elizabeth's office bellowing. He ranted at Grubin and tipped up Elizabeth's desk, hurling it halfway across the office.

The prisoners murmured worriedly around her and the Faronans huddled together in a tight group and held onto each other.

"What's happening?"

"Something's going wrong, Carson," Elizabeth replied.

"That man's neck was broken!"

Elizabeth nodded, her body tense.

"John."

Kavanaugh interrupted. "Colonel Sheppard? Trust him to mess things up! What does he think he's doing?"

"His job," replied Elizabeth, repressively.

"His job's to protect us, which he hasn't done! He should stay out of it! Without him there's a chance they'll just go and leave us alone!"

"Tell that to him," Elizabeth said, gesturing toward the body of the Faronan councillor.

oOo

"McKay! Come in!"

John twisted the dial on the enemy radio, trying to find his normal frequency on the unfamiliar set.

"McKay! McKay, come in, dammit!"

"Sheppard! Where are you, what's happening?"

"Shut up and listen, McKay! The Gateroom's been taken, all Atlantis personnel and guests are hostages, transporters are down, enemy forces are after something in a secret vault, that's all I know."

oOo

Grubin's radio crackled. A garbled voice spoke, fading then sharpening, then fading to static. Verren sprang to attention and Grubin snatched up the radio and marched over to the control centre. He felt around underneath the crystals and, finding Zav's virus matrix, pulled it out, then set about tapping at the crystals and watching the display.

"Level fifty-three," he said calmly. "Go!"

Verren's eyes blazed and he nodded.

oOo

Rodney had heard John's voice, not through his earpiece, but coming from his pack where he kept one of the handheld radio sets.

He heard John's brief sitrep, knowing John was risking giving away his position.

"Sheppard, there's a virus in the system, but I've got it on the run. Don't do anything stupid!"

"Those people are in danger, Rodney: our people, Elizabeth!"

oOo

Verren had seen his brother's body, lying beaten and broken on the floor. He ground his teeth in rage and tightened his grip on his weapon as he stormed down the stairs. He would find this man and make him suffer. They reached level fifty-three. He could feel the breeze from the open balcony. He checked his weapon again and the other two men did the same.

Grim-faced, Verren glared at his companions.

"No-one kills him but me!"

oOo

"Sir, Bates here, I've got two teams, I can back you up!"

"No, that is a negative, Bates. They've already killed one hostage. Go to the east pier!"

"But..."

Bates' words were cut off as the blaze of energy weapons lit up the night. John felt the heat of a blast sear the skin of his shoulder and turned and ran along the balcony, shafts of fire shooting through the air all around him. He grasped the railing with one hand and vaulted over, flipping round to face the balcony. He looked down; and let go.

oOo

Verren was disappointed. He thought the man might at least have turned and fired back, made a final stand. Verren had wanted to see him die, to see his blood. He looked down over the railing and smiled evilly; perhaps he would be in at the kill after all.

"There's a balcony below!" he said, making for the door. "Come on! We'll corner this rat!"

oOo

John had landed hard and had been winded for a moment. He knew he had to move, though, so he forced himself to his feet and ran for the stairwell, hoping to get to it and climb higher than his hunters. Maybe he could lose them in the multi-level infirmary, or get to McKay's lab and find something to make a nasty trap.

He was too late; he heard voices and the thud of feet on the floor above him. He turned and ran back down the corridor to the right, trying to think of a place to hide. It was a residential area, separate rooms or suites of rooms with no access to other levels, as far as John knew, and the corridor curving into a complete ring. This was a bad level to be caught on, and John's fear was confirmed when he heard footsteps ahead of him and behind.

He dived into a room on his left; it was just a narrow maintenance and storage room. John turned, bringing up his weapon. He was trapped. He could hear the men checking the rooms either side of him. It was only a matter of time before he was caught. They were coming.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

There was no way out. It was just a narrow storage space and he was trapped. John's eyes flicked feverishly round the room. He could hear voices in the corridor. He searched the space, frantically. In the shadows, right at the back, John saw a grating set into the wall. He took hold of it, his fingers curling round the metal, and pulled hard. It came out. He set it down and stuck his head through the hole; it was a vertical ventilation shaft, plunging down through the height of the tower, with no hand or footholds, only other gratings or horizontal shafts leading off. It was the only way. What did he have, what could he use? He heard someone in the next room; they would try the door any second.

His weapon! John unhooked the sling from either end and fastened it round the central barrel. Then he climbed into the opening, so that he sat on the sill. Turning awkwardly round, he grasped his weapon and placed it near the bottom edge of the opening, and lowered himself down, only the pressure of the weapon at either edge of the frame holding it, and him, in place. He tried not to think about what he was doing, tried not to think about his full weight hanging on the desperately makeshift arrangement. He lowered himself further, sweating, arms straining and let go of the gun, both hands gripping the dangling end of the sling.

John's harsh, gasping breaths were magnified by the smooth metal walls. His feet beat against the surface as he tried to gain purchase. Further down, hand over shaking hand, he could see another horizontal shaft on the wall, lower and to his right. He was nearly at the end of the sling. It wasn't going to be long enough. John heard a creak and a splitting sound above him. He let go with one hand and reached out, his arm straining and stretching but he was nowhere near his goal. His other arm, bearing his whole weight, was clenched so tight it was close to cramping.

The void below John beckoned, the smooth, sheer sides seeming to descend to vanishing point. There was another agonising creak, then a sharp crack; John dropped. He fell past the horizontal shaft and only his clawed fingers saved him, catching on the shaft a floor below, his body slamming into the side, nearly dislodging him. He hung on, just barely, by his fingers and slowly, the small bones close to snapping point, pulled himself up. He got one elbow over the lip and then the other and pulled and clawed his way into the shaft where he lay in the dark, his heartbeat racing with panic and adrenaline, the muscles in his hands and arms rigid with agonising cramps.

John knew he had to move. They would work out where he'd gone. As if to confirm this, a blast from one of the energy weapons suddenly shot past the end of the shaft. John began to crawl, his arms barely able to support him. He saw light up ahead and there was a grating set into the base of the shaft. He would have to let himself down into the room.

He heard a swish: the sound of a door opening. Then there was the whine of an energy weapon and a beam of light sprang up by his feet. John pulled himself back, just in time as another whine heralded a gaping hole where his head had been, then a prolonged blast began, starting at the far end and working its way toward John, scoring a continuous line of fire and light. John edged back toward the vertical shaft, knowing that he couldn't hang on by his fingertips again; he'd fall for sure. The fiery line came inexorably closer, filling the shaft with sparks and smoke and a bitter, acrid stench. John curled into a tight ball, making himself as small as possible, his desperate thoughts turning to his friends.

oOo

Grubin tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"We do not alter the plan," he had said to his men, and yet here they were, chasing around after some soldier or whatever he was, when there were other things his men should be doing. He picked up the radio.

"Verren, report."

"We lost him. He went down a vent!"

Grubin rolled his eyes. "Did he fall, or climb, or what? Is he dead?"

"He fell. I think. I need to see his body! I need to know he's dead!"

"Leave it, Verren! You have work to do!"

"No, I'm not finished!"

"When your work is done you can tear the place apart looking for this man! For now, we stick to the plan!"

oOo

It had stopped. There were angry voices in the room below; then silence. John waited, curled up, heart still racing. The silence continued. Was it a trick? If so it was a pointless trick because, another couple of yards and they would have had him. John began to edge slowly forward, avoiding the hot, melted edges of the scored line. He came to the grating and looked down. The room was empty. He threaded his tired fingers through the lattice-work, loosened it and pulled it up into the shaft, then let himself down, aiming for a gradual descent. His tired arms gave out and he fell into an exhausted heap.

oOo

To Sergeant Bates the chain of command was sacrosanct and his commanding officer had just given him an order: to head for the east pier. However, his commanding officer was alone in a combat situation and Bates had eight men at his disposal; he was sure they could infiltrate the control tower and provide some useful back-up. They had been skirting the edge of the city heading for McKay's position. Time for a change of direction; they were going in.

oOo

The blizzard had stopped and Ford stood outside the jumper, looking up at the stars. The sky was now crystal clear and the city shone with brightness reflected off the snow. Strangely, the control tower seemed to be lit only in patches but Ford wasn't surprised because nothing was working tonight. He'd walked to the nearest transporter and found it dead and the comms in the jumper still weren't working.

He went back inside and shut the hatch. He'd had enough cake and wouldn't really touch any of the alcohol while still on duty. He idly began to check through the jumper's kit which was already perfectly well organised. He picked up one of the handheld radios and spoke into it, expecting no response. "Hey, folks, it's bored Ford, out here with nothing to do, someone going to come get me?" A series of static bursts replied; the mission signal for radio silence. Ford stared at the radio. He pushed his way past the crates and peered through the windscreen, the top of the control tower visible in the distance.

"What's going on up there, Woody?" The carved figure glared in silent disapproval.

oOo

Zav had broken through two of the Ancient security layers. The second had been an interesting puzzle, but once he'd worked out which mathematical sequence it was based on, it had been no real challenge. He was a bit worried about the glove, though; the response he was getting was inconsistent now, as if the genetic coating were wearing away. He didn't want to call the Boss down too soon, even though his genuine Ancient blood would probably be needed for the final level. Grubin had other concerns.

oOo

John had pulled himself up off the floor and sat down on the small Ancient bed. The room was almost bare, nobody having claimed it. Most people seemed to prefer to live further out in the city. John felt he needed to be close to the action, ready for anything, although at the moment the action wasn't much fun.

He stretched out his arms and rolled his shoulders. They didn't feel brilliant, but the cramps and shakes had worn off. John took his Beretta out of his belt, checked it and slid it back. His only weapon, once more. It would have to be enough for now. He thought back to his defence of the city against Kolya's forces, picking off the men, striking where he wasn't expected. He'd had a life signs detector and a P90 then. He sighed and shrugged; he'd have to manage.

oOo

"Emba! Kel! Wrap it round here!" Verren directed the two men with the thick, yellow cord and then surveyed his surroundings, consulted a plan and strode forward, ushering the men to follow. They would have to stick to the layout precisely if the resulting explosions were to have the effect they wanted.

oOo

Rodney looked up from his work and stretched his aching back. The virus didn't seem to be spreading any more; it had seemingly lost its will to swim, which wasn't much consolation looking at the damage it had caused. He wouldn't be able to get transporters online or the tower unsealed until he'd done a good deal more work. He pondered the mind that had created the virus. Somebody who lived in a world of complex mathematical sequences and patterns and combined them with, he had to admit, a certain flair and a sense of humour, but also with a streak of ruthlessness. Rodney hadn't needed to immerse himself in the perpetrator's code for more than ten minutes, though, to know that he was more than capable of out-thinking him. Or her. The unpicking of the tangle wasn't difficult for a certain Dr Rodney McKay, genius _extraordinaire; _it was just fiddly and tedious and he wished he could palm it off on Zelenka or, better still, Kavanaugh.

Ford's voice came from the radio followed by the signal for radio silence. Rodney wondered whether the signal came from Sheppard or Bates. Rodney had nearly panicked when Bates had butted in on the radio and then Sheppard had broken off, the sound of weapons fire shrieking from the handset. Instead Rodney had forced down his panic and focussed on what he could do to help: fix the city systems.

He wondered what Sheppard was doing. Had he gone all stealthy and black-ops like he had when Kolya had tried to take over? Sheppard was pretty scary when he became the 'silent killer,' but Rodney found the thought quite comforting under the circumstances. He hoped John was okay and wished he could communicate with him, but he didn't want to give away John's position again.

oOo

John tapped the button on his radio in the signal for silence. He'd forgotten about Ford, stuck out there in the jumper. Pity he couldn't fly the thing, but hopefully Bates was headed his way and surely he'd have at least one of the Marines that John had been teaching to fly the jumpers?

John wished he could find a secure way of contacting Rodney. He didn't know which frequencies the enemy were monitoring; their normal channel was quite close to the standard channel for off-world transmissions. If John could use a seemingly random cycle of frequencies to contact Rodney, maybe their signals wouldn't be detected. He had an idea of how that might be achieved, but how to tell Rodney without telling the enemy?

oOo

"Lights are hinky," commented one of the Marines.

"Sorry, what?" Rodney looked up impatiently. "Firstly, 'hinky' is not a term which conveys information with any degree of scientific accuracy and secondly, no, they're not; I think you'll find the lighting system is working at full efficiency thanks to my meticulous work."

The Marines looked at each other as if both were daring the other to disagree.

"There's one going on and off," one of them ventured.

"Let me see." Rodney shouldered them out of the way and glared at the distant control tower. "That, my observant friends, is a signal. Signal back. Go on, turn our light on and off!" The Marine complied. "Okay, that's enough!"

Rodney, his eyes fixed on one floor of the control tower observed the pattern of lights on that floor. One room on, the next off, then three rooms on, then the next off, then one more room lit.

"One, three, one. So what? What does that mean?" Rodney watched as the next room lit up, and then the next until a further six rooms were lit. Then nothing happened.

"Okay, one, three, seven. Hmm... Flash our light again." Another two rooms lit up. "One three nine. You!" Rodney whirled round, making both Marines jump. "Tune that thing to one hundred and forty-nine megahertz and flick the talk button a few times!"

oOo

Verran had left them to their work and gone to see the Boss, so Emba and Kel had taken the opportunity to take a break. They were sitting on the stairs, Emba eating some trail mix he'd forgotten was in his pocket and Kel trying to smoke a long wooden pipe, which refused to light.

Emba dropped a nut and it bounced down the stairs. He followed its progress until it disappeared into the darkness. The nut was then illuminated, where it had settled on the stair. Then it was in darkness again, and so on, alternating irritatingly. Emba spat out a hard piece of dried fruit, which pinged off the metal railing. He snatched up his kitbag and weapon.

"There's somebody down there!"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

A tapping disturbed the static on a setting of one hundred and forty-nine megahertz. John smiled. Useful things, prime numbers. He turned away from the window and went to perch on the edge of the table that ran the length of the room.

A flicker of movement in the doorway was all the warning he had before an energy blast shot toward him and he drew his handgun and fired, his instincts sending his shots flying true to their target. The man went down but another was there striding forward into the room, swinging his weapon from side to side like a machine gun. John dived beneath the table and the man jumped up on it, firing off blast after blast down through the surface as he walked its length, laughing psychotically. John scrambled frantically on his back, elbows and feet flailing to keep him moving just ahead of the shots, unable to bring his weapon up. Green fire blasted down through the table to bite into the floor and John expected any second to feel the bite in his flesh.

Something thumped onto the floor into a sudden, ringing silence: an energy pack. The man was reloading. John flung up his arm and fired vertically again and again, straight up through the table, the shots deafening. He stopped, his ears singing with shock.

There was a thud, then a slide and the man's bullet-ridden body slumped to the floor.

John fumbled his way out from beneath the table and knelt next to the body, breathing hard, once more awash with adrenaline. He noticed he had a burn along his ribs from where the first guy had almost finished him, but he couldn't feel any pain yet. He shook his head and a breath of near hysterical laughter broke free. To think, only a couple of hours ago, he was trying to avoid a Christmas party and Elizabeth. _Focus, John, _he thought, imagining Elizabeth's voice.

He took the weapon in front of him and went to see what he could scavenge from the other man. He had a bag, the strap over his shoulder. John slid the strap off the man and unzipped the bag. The contents were interesting; some solid blocks, a little smaller than housebricks and some narrow, black cylinders, about five inches long. Similar, but not the same as those produced on earth, but designs tended to be similar where the practical purpose was the same. There was also a handgun; it looked to be of Genii make. John picked up one of the bricks and sniffed at it: bitter almonds. These were the local equivalents of C4 and detonators. John smirked mischievously; perhaps the tables were turning at last.

oOo

The radio hissed and Grubin snatched it up.

"I thought I told all of you I want radio silence until further notice!"

"I'm very sorry, Hanzar, I didn't get that message," came a jeering voice. "Maybe you should have put it on the bulletin board. I figured since I'd waxed two more of your men you might be a little lonely so I wanted to give you a call."

"That's very kind of you," replied Grubin with oily insincerity. "You really have been most troublesome. Who are you?"

"Just the fly in the ointment, Hanzar, the monkey in the wrench, the pain in the ass!"

Grubin gritted his teeth at the deliberately taunting voice. He covered the radio and spoke to Verren. "Check on the others. Don't use the radio. See if he's lying."

He spoke into the radio again. "Mr Mystery Guest, are you still there?"

"I'm here. I'll still be here after you've taken yourself and your bunch of gorillas back through the Gate!"

Grubin laughed, gently. "Do you really think you have a chance against us?"

"This is my city, Grubin and those are my people you've taken hostage. I'd back my chances against yours."

Grubin didn't respond, uneasy at the change in the stranger's tone from mocking to deadly intent. He shrugged and dismissed his doubts; what could one man do?

oOo

Verren stormed back into the office.

"He wasn't lying. Emba and Kel are dead. And Kel's bag is gone."

"He had the detonators!" Grubin picked up the radio. "Zav. Zav!"

"Boss?"

"We may have some problems. How's our schedule?"

"Three down, four to go."

"Then don't waste time talking to me!" He glared at Verren, his face grim. "We must find that bag!"

oOo

The hostages were restless and uncomfortable; nerves were wearing thin and Elizabeth was aware that she needed to win some concessions before somebody cracked. She rose stiffly to her feet, smoothing down her clothes. The guard immediately swung his weapon to point directly at her, but she didn't flinch.

"I want to talk to Grubin."

The guard shouted up to his colleague in the control level and Elizabeth soon found herself escorted, at gunpoint, into her own office. Grubin looked at ease in her chair; she schooled her face into diplomatic impassivity.

"Dr Weir! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's no pleasure to me. I don't enjoy being this close to you." Elizabeth mentally rebuked herself; so much for impassivity.

Grubin laughed slightly. "You asked to speak to me."

"Yes. We have some elderly Faronan councillors who are very uncomfortable sitting on the floor. I'd like permission to move them to an office with more comfortable seating."

"No, but I'll have some seats brought out. Good enough?"

"Good enough. And unless you like it messy, start bringing us in groups to the bathroom."

"Yes, you're right, it will be done. Was there something else?"

"No. Thank you."

Elizabeth began to turn away.

"Dr Weir. Your military contingent - who is their commander?"

"Sergeant Bates. He's stuck in the lower city," answered Elizabeth, with a creditable lack of emotion.

Grubin merely smiled, falsely.

oOo

Zav had worked his way through another security level, this one much tougher than the last, much more of a challenge. He took a canteen out of his bag and swigged some water, then brought up the city systems on his display and scowled; somebody had been doing their best to neutralise his virus. He flicked the display impatiently. His access had been blocked to some essential systems but a security alert was flashing up movement around the base of the tower. Better send in the troops.

oOo

John sat in the dark. He leant back against the wall and wished he had a canteen and a power bar; and a P90; and his team. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them, trying to rub away the gritty tiredness. He must look a mess, he thought; filthy and bloodstained, shredded, singed t-shirt and his pants torn and snagged in several places too. _Pegasus is certainly hard on uniforms, _he thought, wondering if he had many intact clothes left.

There were some flickering lights on the ceiling and John's eyes idly followed them in their dancing movements. Suddenly he jumped up and looked out of the window. Peering down, a long way down to the area at the base of the tower, he could see small beams of white light, waving here and there, pointing up toward the windows.

"Bates!" John growled through his teeth. He pulled the radio out of his pocket and set it to the enemy frequency.

oOo

Ford, dozing, had jumped when the radio spluttered and crackled. He tuned it to the channel being transmitted until the voice came through loud and clear.

"We have four blips approaching the main door in a standard two by two cover formation."

"Copy that!" came the response.

Ford leapt up and grabbed another radio handset, switched it on and left it tuned to the normal Atlantis frequency. He listened intently.

oOo

John fumed. Why had Bates disobeyed him? Some of his men might have to pay for his mistake with their lives. John picked up the kitbag and made for the stairs. He needed to find the enemy forces that had his Marines in their sights and he needed to neutralise them fast. He reached the stairwell and heard weapons fire somewhere below. John hurled himself down the stairs, hanging onto the railing and vaulting several at once where he could.

oOo

The Marines broke radio silence and Ford heard a panicked voice.

"We're pinned down, Sir! The doors are locked, there's no way we can get in!"

Then Bates' voice: "You'll have to run for it, we'll cover you!"

oOo

John reached an atrium with multiple mezzanines. He looked down over the topmost level and saw that the enemy were firing from small projecting balconies that would give them a good angle on the main door.

With swift, savage movements, John drew out a couple of blocks of explosive. He slammed a detonator into one and, ripping off the bag's strap, dragged over a nearby Ancient planter (plant long dead) and tied the whole lot together. He heaved his makeshift bomb up onto the railing and, looking down to assess his target area once more, twisted the timer of the detonator and thrust it out into the air.

He leapt back from the railing and covered his head. A thunderous blast was followed by a great wave of fire which burst up to the ceiling. John felt the intense heat even from where he crouched. The wave receded and he ran to the edge to look down upon the destruction. The lower panes of glass were all gone and higher up glass hung in great jagged shards. The floor of the atrium was blackened and the lower railings were twisted and partially melted. Of the enemy there was no sign.

John switched to Atlantis' frequency and keyed the radio. "Targets neutralised. Now get the hell out of there, Bates!"

A burst of static was followed by Bates' voice. "Yes, Sir."

oOo

Ford sat back in the co-pilot's seat. He felt stupid. Here was he, sitting in the jumper babysitting an Athosian statue, while there was a crisis going on. He pulled off his cap and flung it across the cockpit. The wooden figure seemed to smirk mockingly.

"Shut up!" said Ford.

oOo

Rodney's Marines had seen the explosion light up the darkness around the tower. Rodney, his radio ready tuned to one hundred and fifty-one MHz, snatched it up and spoke urgently.

"Sheppard? Sheppard, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What was that?"

"Uh, yeah, I had to do a little redecorating... with some C4, or the Pegasus equivalent. Bates sent in some of his men. Had to get them out of trouble."

"Redecorating? Sheppard, is the Tower on fire?"

"No, but it's going to need a paintjob and a shitload of screen doors."

Rodney rolled his eyes.

"How's it going with that virus, McKay?"

"I've got transporters online outside the Control Tower. I'm working on the Tower systems now. There's something going on in or near the Holo-room."

"Okay, get yourself over to the East Pier. Ford's there with a jumper and Bates should be there too soon."

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Um... Hang in there. I mean, we'll get through this."

"Yeah, sure we will, Rodney. Sheppard out."

Rodney set down the radio. John's normal optimism hadn't exactly shone through over the radio waves. It was turning out to be a long night. Rodney tuned the radio to one-five-seven and began packing up.

oOo

Kavanagh had watched as Elizabeth was escorted up the stairs to talk to Grubin; he was pretty unimpressed by the results of her negotiation. Some chairs and trips to the bathroom? He could do better than that! It was time somebody competent took charge. He smoothed down his hair, making sure no strands had escaped his ponytail and began to get up.

"What are you doing, Kavanagh?" hissed Zelenka.

"I'm tired of sitting here waiting to see who gets us killed first, them or Major Sheppard!"

Elizabeth glared at him. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm an internationally respected scientist!" Kavanagh declared. Zelenka muttered something in Czech and Kavanagh gave him a withering glance. "I think I can handle these goons!" He rose to his feet. "Hey, you, I want to talk to your boss!"

oOo

Grubin raised an eyebrow as a tall, rather smug-looking man entered the office. The man held out his hand, over-confidently.

"Dr Peter Kavanagh."

Grubin ignored the hand and the man drew it back, looking slightly less sure of himself.

"What do you want?"

"It's not what I want, it's what I can give you!" He continued, in an irritatingly congenial manner. "Look, let's be straight, okay? It's obvious you're not just some petty criminal out to snatch a few purses."

"You're very perceptive," said Grubin drily.

"I can tell you're professionals; you're motivated, you have an agenda."

Grubin smiled as if flattered.

"Maybe you're with the Genii, maybe you like the status quo; let the Wraith do their thing and live off the pickings, you know? It's none of my business. I think you're here to take Atlantis down a peg or two, am I right?"

"You're amazing! You worked this out already?" This man's stupidity wouldn't be amusing for long.

"Hey, we've all got projects; you use a gun, I use a computer, what's the difference?" Grubin shrugged, playing along. If this fool had something to offer, he'd better lay it on the table soon. "So, you're here to push your agenda, but you didn't think there'd be some loose cannon running round messing things up for you."

"What are you saying?"

"I can give him to you." Grubin disliked the man's self-satisfied expression intensely, but he smiled back. Perhaps this Kavanagh did have something to offer.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Oh crap!"

Rodney leapt on the radio. "Sheppard! Sheppard are you alright?"

"Yeah, just trying to fire down a thousand-year-old power bar. What do they put in these things anyway?"

"What flavour is it?"

"Uh... White chocolate and raspberry."

"Oh, well, then glucose syrup, white chocolate, milk powder, emulsifier, invert sugar syrup... need I go on? Just everything a growing astrophysicist needs! Anyway, where are you and where d'you get the power bar?"

"One of the conference rooms we don't use much. I found the bar in a drawer. Where are you?"

"In the jumper. Ford's here and Bates. And a really ugly wood-carving. What do you want us to do?"

"Just wait for now. I'll let you know."

A voice spoke from one of the radio sets Ford was holding.

"Major John Sheppard?"

"Sheppard!" said Rodney. "Tune to the enemy's frequency!"

oOo

"Major?" Grubin spoke calmly into the radio. "You'd better answer. I have someone here who wants to talk to you!"

He handed the radio to Kavanagh, who lolled comfortably in the chair opposite, with the air of a man who thought himself a cut above everybody around him.

"Major Sheppard?"

"Kavanagh?"

"Yes. Listen, Major, they're giving me a few minutes to talk sense into you. I know you think you're doing your job and I can appreciate that, but you're just dragging this thing out. No-one gets out of here until these gentlemen get what they came for. That won't happen unless you stop slowing them down."

"Kavanagh, what have you told them?" Grubin smiled to hear the tension in his adversary's voice.

"I've told them that you're in command of the military here and it's your job to protect us!"

"Kavanagh, you shouldn't be doing this!"

"Listen, Major, they want you to give yourself up and tell them where the detonators are. They know people are listening. They want the detonators or they're going to kill me." Kavanagh smiled across at Grubin, unaware of the very real possibility that his words were no less than the truth. The radio was silent.

"Major, didn't you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

"Sheppard, get with the programme! Tell these men where the detonators are so no-one else gets hurt! I'm putting my life on the line for you here!" Kavanagh spoke angrily into the radio, but then smirked across at Grubin.

"Kavanagh, listen to me carefully."

"Major..."

"Shut up, Kavanagh! Put Grubin on. Grubin, that idiot doesn't realise what kind of man you are, but I do!"

"Good," said Grubin. "Then you'll give us what we want and save his life." Grubin slid a handgun from beneath the desk and trained it on Kavanagh. It was amusing to watch the man's expression droop and his posture change from over-confident lolling to frozen terror within the space of a second. Grubin looked over his head at Verren, who was standing in the doorway and raised one eyebrow just slightly.

"Sheppard, tell them, they're really going to kill me! Sheppard!"

The radio was silent. Grubin squeezed the trigger and a shot rang out, reverberating through the Gateroom.

"Where are my detonators, Major Sheppard? Where are they? Or shall I shoot another one? Sooner or later I might get to someone you do care about!"

oOo

The shot sounded clearly over the radio in the jumper. Everybody stood, silent; Ford, Rodney, Bates and the Marines.

One of the young Marines said quietly, "He just let that scientist guy die. He just let him get shot!"

"If Sheppard gave himself up they'd both be dead right now!" Rodney spat, angrily. "He's alone, tired, hurt! He's doing his best to protect everyone as usual, but he can't..." He broke off waving a hand, panic and frustration rising to the surface.

Ford steered Rodney to the pilot's chair, evicting 'Woody'. He pulled a power bar out of his pocket, opened it and gave it to Rodney.

"Thank you," said Rodney, his mouth full of power bar. "I had some cookies, but I'm not sure what happened to them." He looked around unhappily as if expecting them to appear.

"The Major'll be okay," said Ford. "He'll come up with a plan."

"Yes, he will," said Rodney determinedly. "And I need some quiet to get on with kicking these impudent interlopers out of the system!"

oOo

Grubin smiled, shark-like, his eyes glinting. He regarded Kavanagh's form, slumped on the floor, with distaste.

"Move that!" he said, with careless unconcern. Then he barked into the radio. "Zav, are we on schedule?"

"One more to go, then it's up to you."

"Call me when you hit the last level." He set the radio down. "Verren! Hunt that little rat down and get those detonators."

"I need to check the explosives."

"I'll check the explosives. You just get the detonators!"

oOo

The hostages had all flinched when they heard the shot and Elizabeth, although she had certainly had her differences with Kavanagh, felt angry that yet another member of the expedition had been killed. She watched with sadness as his body was dragged down the stairs, but when Kavanagh was dumped on the floor in front of her and she could spot no bullet hole or blood anywhere, her sadness turned to confusion. Then Kavanagh began to stir and moan and brought a shaking hand to his head. Carson moved forward to examine the man.

"They must have just knocked him out," he said.

"But John will think he's dead," said Elizabeth.

oOo

Grubin ran a practiced eye over the festoons of det cord and carefully placed explosives; they would take out the central supporting structure of the tower, just below where it flared out to encompass the larger upper levels and Gateroom. The Gate itself would survive, of course, but the explosion would almost certainly render Atlantis useless as a base of operations. And, of course, the bulk of Atlantis' personnel would be killed; an outcome that would be most satisfactory, in Grubin's opinion.

He began to make his way back to the staircase, admiring the graceful lines of the structure and tasteful decor as he went. The Ancients certainly knew good design. Approaching a junction, a figure suddenly stepped out in his path and Grubin froze. He beheld a ragged stranger with bare feet, weapon held casually but with efficient familiarity, his gaze hard and grimly assessing. This had to be him, at last: Major John Sheppard. Grubin cowered away from him.

"Oh, please, no!" he said, pressing himself into the wall. "You're one of them, aren't you? You're one of them! Don't kill me, please! Please, please, please!" He slid down the wall and covered his head with his arms, noting the bag that Sheppard held bundled up under one arm: his detonators.

"Hey, relax!" said Sheppard. "I'm not going to hurt you!" Grubin slowly lowered his arms and looked up, letting his hands shake a little and keeping his expression fearful. Sheppard continued. "What are you doing here?"

"I was at the party. I'm Faronan," Grubin said, with a small, plaintive smile. Really, he thought he should be congratulated on his acting skills. "I went to the bathroom and I heard shots, so I ran. And hid!"

The Major lowered his weapon. Grubin stood slowly. "Rel," he said. "Tarlan Rel." He held out his hand, palm up, in the manner of the Faronans. Sheppard, his eyes not leaving Grubin's, placed his hand briefly on top.

"John Sheppard," he said. "You got any food, Rel? Water?"

Grubin shook his head, smiling nervously. "Sorry, no."

"You know what those guys are here for? What it is they want?"

Grubin shook his head again, his eyes drifting down to his adversary's bare feet.

"Better than being caught with your pants down, huh? Listen, Rel, if you want to stay alive, you stay with me."

Grubin nodded eagerly.

Sheppard drew a handgun out of his waistband. "You ever use one of these things?"

Rel smiled nervously again. "No, I wouldn't know how."

"Simple enough," said John. "Here's the safety, see this is on." He flicked the lever. "Now it's off, so the weapon's live, understand?"

"Yes, yes, I see."

"And, this here's the trigger. Easy, you see? You think you can handle that?" Sheppard flicked the safety on and held the gun out to Grubin.

"Yes, I think so."

"Okay. C'mon, let's go."

oOo

John turned his back on the other man and began to walk away. Then he stopped, aware that there were no footsteps following. He felt a nasty prickling between his shoulder blades. He turned. Rel was pointing the weapon straight at him, his grip and stance as easy and competent as a professional. He smiled and the smile was unpleasantly amused.

"Put down the gun and give me my detonators!"

John smiled back. "Well, that was unexpected," he drawled. "Hanzar, I presume?"

"Put it down. Now!"

"What do you want with the detonators? I used all the explosives." John smirked, tauntingly. "Or did I?"

"I'm going to count to three." Grubin's voice was ice cold.

"Be my guest!"

Grubin's finger tightened firmly on the trigger. The Genii weapon remained silent.

"Oops, no bullets!" John strode forward, as Grubin pressed the trigger again and again. "What, d'you think I'm stupid, Hanz?"

The thunder of footsteps in the stairwell behind him alerted John to danger; he whirled round to see Verren and two men hurtling up the stairs. John didn't hesitate. He dived down the side corridor, bringing up the energy weapon, carving an arc of fire through the air. Then he ran.

oOo

"Get after him!" Grubin yelled. Verren and Shan took off, leaving Frenta draped over the top step, dead. Grubin clenched his teeth with rage. Another man dead and he still didn't have the detonators.

He stalked hastily after his men and found them standing on the threshold of a large, amphitheatre-like room with a mirrored ceiling. Its broad levels, set out with tables and chairs, descended toward a panoramic viewing window. Of Major Sheppard there was no sign. Verren and Shan moved forward, kicking at the hindering furniture, occasionally firing off a shot into the air to see if they could make their quarry break cover. The mirror glass fell in tinkling shards. Grubin strode forward impatiently; more time wasted hunting this infuriating man. Glass crunched under his shoes. He remembered Sheppard's bare feet.

"Shoot the glass!" he called. Verren turned round, questioningly. "Shoot the glass!"

oOo

John crouched under a table on the lowest level of the viewing gallery. He knew there was a small door to one side, half hidden by the curve of the wall, but the furniture was difficult to crawl through, particularly carrying the energy weapon and the bag of detonators. He could hear tables and chairs being kicked aside and there was an occasional ringing blast, shattering the mirrored ceiling.

He heard Grubin: "Shoot the glass!" There was a cacophony of blasts and diamond-like shards rained down about him. John let off a few shots around the edge of the table but the weapon failed, depleted of energy. He dropped it and then saw something small and black bounce down the step and land near him. John threw the table down on its edge and immediately there was a flash and a deafening explosion and the table was flung hard against John's curled back. The air was filled with smoke and glass and confusion and John saw his chance. He ran, bent double, pushing and shoving furniture out of the way. The bag snagged on something and he left it, feeling the sting of mirror fragments cutting his skin and savage bites of agony as his bare feet came down hard on the jagged knives of glass.

oOo

His men had devastated the room, the grenade leaving a blasted area and a pall of bitter, black smoke. They stopped firing. Shards of glass continued to drop, here and there from the ceiling, falling to shatter amongst the rest. Grubin crunched forward, surveying the scene, descending the wide steps carefully. The lingering smoke slowly dissipated. Verren, on the lowest level, roared his disapproval. Sheppard had escaped again. Grubin spotted the abandoned bag of detonators.

"Smile, Verren," he said, picking it up and checking the contents. "We're back in business."

oOo

"Bože na nebi! That man looks really pissed!"

Elizabeth had to agree with Zelenka. She had been worried when the three men had returned, Grubin carrying a bag and looking pleased with himself. But then, the blonde, heavily-built one, Verren, had had what could only be described as a temper tantrum, shoving one of the other men, turning over the buffet table, punching the wall and roaring and ranting all the way up the stairs and into Elizabeth's office.

"He's still alive," she said.

"Dr Weir?" She looked at Peter and Radek, feeling weak with relief.

"Only John can drive somebody that crazy."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Zav flexed his fingers and tapped in the solution to the penultimate security level. Nothing happened. He was sure he was right, so he tried again and the lock gave, a door opening to reveal a small chamber, with no visible exit or control panels of any sort. Zav peeled off the glove and picked up the radio.

"Hanz, I'm through. You'd better get down here, ain't no glove going to fool this thing."

"I'll be right there."

oOo

John had left a trail. He knew it and there was nothing he could do about it. He had already torn the remnants of his t-shirt in half to tie tightly around his feet but the blood had soaked through. He had limped painfully up a small back staircase and through a maze of little offices to McKay's lab, where he knew there was a first aid kit. He grabbed the kit from its hook on the wall, pushed some of Rodney's gadgets to one side and pulled himself up to sit on the workbench.

John reached down and dragged one foot up to rest across the other knee, then he untied the knotted shred of fabric and peeled it away. Blood began to drip steadily onto the floor. The room lurched and John clung to the bench, feeling weak and sick. He closed his eyes and his exhausted frame sagged. The radio in his pocket chirped to life.

"Sheppard? Sheppard, are you there?"

John drew out the radio. "Yeah, but, all things being equal, I'd rather be riding some waves on Oahu." He forced a smile but his voice shook slightly. He put the radio down and, gritting his teeth, pulled out the large shard of glass that was embedded in the sole of his foot. His breathing quickened and he gave a small, suppressed moan.

"Sheppard, I'm nearly through. We'll be there soon!"

John slapped a thick padded dressing over the wound and pressed it hard. He wasn't looking forward to standing again, but knew he'd have to. He pressed harder, ignoring the pain; he couldn't afford to lose any more blood.

"John?"

"That's... that's great Rodney." John tried and failed to stop his voice sounding tired and pained.

"Are you okay?"

John lifted the pad away from his foot briefly and saw the bleeding had slowed. He eyed the disinfectant and decided not to bother; either Carson could deal with it later, or... well, maybe there wouldn't be a later. He took a fresh dressing and bound it in place accompanied by McKay's worried voice. He picked up the radio again.

"I'm okay, Rodney."

"No, you're not. What's happened?"

"You know, just having a bad day."

John set his foot down gingerly, wincing. He picked up the other, which wasn't as bad; just a couple of shards, which he proceeded to pick out.

"Yeah, a bad day..." replied Rodney, tiredly. "Me too."

John bound his foot, feeling a dragging weariness. Too much adrenaline, too many injuries, too much time spent hunted and alone; he would fight to the end but his hope was running out.

"Um... listen, McKay. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this."

"You get a bad feeling now? Things have been bad for hours. How much worse are you expecting?"

"Just listen, Rodney! I want you to do something for me." John's voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

"Sheppard?" Rodney sounded small and scared.

"I want you to tell Elizabeth something. I want you to tell her that, um..." John grimaced and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Why did words always fail him just when he needed them? "Tell her that it took me a while to figure out what a jerk I've been, but, um..." He felt the weight of pain and exhaustion dragging him down, his thoughts foggy and sluggish. "I shoulda been more supportive and uh... I shoulda trusted her more." John dropped his head, lips compressed, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, feeling the mixture of sweat and dirt on his skin. The radio was silent, waiting. "And I'm sorry. I want you to tell her that. Rodney, I want you to say, 'John said that he was sorry,' okay? You got that?"

"Yes, but, you can tell her yourself! John? You'll survive this and tell her yourself!"

John rubbed his eyes, his tired brain trying to make sense of the night's events. "I guess we'll see." He remembered Grubin's act when John had surprised him. _What were you doing there, Hanzar?_

"John?"

"McKay, lay off for a while, I gotta go check on something."

oOo

"It's all yours, Boss," said Zav, grinning. He gestured at the small, featureless chamber.

Grubin drew himself up and prepared to step inside, his pride in his Ancient ancestry showing in the tilt of his chin and, he thought, regal bearing. He stepped forward and stood in the centre of the chamber. A warm glow enveloped him and golden light burst from the walls all around him. He turned to Zav, his arms held out to either side. He knew he must look magnificent, his features limned in gold, the very embodiment of Ancient dignity. He heard a hiss from behind him and closed his eyes, preparing to face the fabulous treasures that lay within. He turned slowly and looked.

The door had slid aside to reveal a room of modest proportions, illuminated from an unseen source with bright, pure light which reflected off almost clinically stark, white surfaces. The walls were grooved in small, shallow rectangles, thousands of them altogether. _Drawers? _thought Grubin. _Precious stones? _In the centre of the room was a tall pedestal, cylindrical, about four feet tall, featureless, apart from a slot in the very top. Grubin stepped forward.

"What can you see, Boss?"

Grubin trailed his fingers along one wall, feeling the smooth, almost slippery surface and the sharp lines separating each rectangle. There were no obvious handles. He pressed one. It slid open smoothly. The drawer was lined with a firm but softly textured material and, in an indentation perfectly moulded to its shape, a rectangular crystal. Grubin, delicately, with the tips of his fingers, drew it out. He held it up.

He regarded the slot in the top of the pedestal. The crystal shook slightly in his hand. Grubin's mind was blank; hope, excitement, dread, any speculation temporarily halted. He inserted the crystal into the slot.

And out of the silence, beauty awoke: a slow, simple, sequence of low tones and then the most exquisitely high, pure melody floating above, slowly descending and blossoming into a harmony of such delight that Grubin felt tears come into his eyes. His joy lasted less than a second. He pressed another drawer and then another and another, all slid open to reveal the same rectangular crystals.

"Music!" he spat, with utter disgust. "This is not treasure, not riches! This is not my fortune!" His voice rose and he whirled around, his hand closing on his gun, his eyes furiously accusing. "Zav! Zav!" he roared. But Zav had gone.

oOo

John limped and staggered his way along the hall, his brows frowning, his mouth clamped tight in pain. He reached the spot where he'd encountered Grubin and looked around; he could see nothing unusual. He carried on, the thick bandage on his foot feeling damp once more. John knew there was a large, round central room on this level. The door seemed further away than usual, but as soon as it swished open before him, he could see exactly what Grubin had planned. He took in the loops and drapes of det cord, the packed bundles of explosives fastened to the columns, the detonators fixed and ready. A small black box, with a winking red light sat in the centre of the explosives. If this lot went up it would weaken the tower's structure such that anything above this point would come crashing down: the infirmary, McKay's lab, the Gateroom. The Gateroom; the nerve centre of Atlantis, and, at the moment, a holding pen for hostages.

John grabbed his radio. "McKay! Listen to me! The place is wired! We have to get everyone out!"

John's words were cut off as he felt a hard jab in his cheek. His eyes slid down to see the barrel of an energy weapon. He froze.

oOo

"Sheppard? John! John, come in!" There was no reply.

"What did he say?" asked Ford.

"He said the place is wired," said Bates. "But not where! The Gateroom?"

"He said to get everyone out," said Rodney. "So we'll do what he said."

oOo

John felt his Beretta being pulled out of the back of his BDUs and heard it skitter away over the floor. His radio was snatched, thrown down and stamped on. He wondered why the man didn't just shoot him.

"We are both professionals," said Verren. "But this is personal."

As Verren started to speak, John realised that this was a man who was truly after his blood; a psycho after a close-quarters, full-throttle fist fight. _He'll wish he just shot me_, John thought. He spun round and threw up his arm, knocking the gun free from Verren's hand and launching himself at the man. John knew that Verren was bigger and stronger than him; he had to finish this quickly. He let loose a flurry of hard blows at Verren's torso, trying to force him back against the wall. It felt like he was hitting rock. Verren barely flinched but just took the blows and then when John's arm came forward once more, he grabbed it and bent it back, straining John's elbow almost to dislocation and bringing his other hand round to smash into John's face. John fell backwards and felt a kick follow up the punch. His jaw exploded with pain and his head rang.

oOo

Rodney watched as the jumper lifted off slowly, piloted by one of the young Marines, Private Hendricks. He jogged along, following Bates and his men to the transporter. Rodney ran through their tasks in his head: retake the Gateroom, evacuate the hostages, defuse the explosives and, his personal mission, take out the inventor of the virus which caused such damage.

oOo

Elizabeth watched Grubin march into the room, his face white, his gun gripped tightly in his hand. Abruptly he flung up his arm and fired several shots into the air.

"Get them in there!" he shouted at one of his men, gesturing to the meeting room. "Up!" He fired again into the air and the hostages scrambled to their feet. There were frightened screams as they were herded up the stairs.

"Not you!" said Grubin, grabbing Elizabeth's wrist and nearly jerking her off her feet. He pressed the muzzle of the gun into her neck. "Somebody will have to pay for your safe return! Dial the Gate!" he shouted.

"They won't!" she said, struggling in his grip. "We don't negotiate with terrorists!"

"You'd better hope they do! Keep still!" He twisted Elizabeth's arm up her back and she gasped in pain.

"Can't do it, Boss! The Gate's not working!"

Grubin let out a roar of frustration. Then he dragged Elizabeth up the main stairs and across the control room. "Shan, with me!" he ordered and the man left the control consoles and followed Grubin up the stairs to the upper level.

_The Jumper bay, _Elizabeth thought.

oOo

John made it to his knees before another kick felled him. He wiped the blood out of his eyes but another blow came and he was on the floor again. Through his swimming vision he could see something on the ground ahead of him: his Beretta, just out of his reach. He raised himself on hands and knees and stretched out one arm. A heavy blow to his ribs came this time and he curled round it, gasping and tried to roll away from the savage attack. He saw another kick heading his way and grabbed hold of Verren's leg with both hands, pushing up and twisting sharply so that the man came crashing down. John was on him as soon as he fell, pounding as hard as he could, desperately trying to finish the other man before his own strength gave out.

oOo

Ford was ready for action. He'd been waiting for hours, feeling helpless and now, at last, they were going in. He watched as the lights of Atlantis flashed by and they rose slowly, circling the control tower, heading for the jumper bay.

oOo

Verren gathered his strength and pushed up with his bent legs, throwing his opponent off. He rolled away, saw the man's weapon within reach and snatched it up. The door hissed open behind him and he swung round, firing. There was a cry of pain as his opponent disappeared through the door. _Got him! _thought Verren, sure that he would soon have avenged his brother's death.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Zav fled, his datapad under his arm. _Music! _he thought. _All that security just for music? How was I to know? _Grubin wouldn't see it like that, though; if he encountered his Boss, he was a dead man. He needed to get as far away as possible; at least half a galaxy away. That meant he had to get to the Gate, but how? Maybe he could create a diversion, knock out the lighting or something. And how long did he have before Grubin blew the tower?

Zav could hear gunfire and screaming from above him. He'd take out the lights, activate the Gate from down here, then run for it. He began searching for the nearest dataport.

oOo

Verren jumped suddenly out into the hallway, the gun held ready. His enemy, Major Sheppard, was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone? Verren saw a patch of blood on the ground but no other sign. The stairwell; he'd be hiding there, waiting to attack. Or maybe the coward had run away. Verren strode forward, eager to find and kill his quarry. A blow came suddenly to the side of his head and a heavy weight landed on him.

oOo

John had swarmed up one of the sculptures, despite his pain where the bullet had clipped his bicep. He clung on, high up in the shadows where the wall met the ceiling. Verren emerged, the Beretta in his hand. John waited. He waited until the man was just below him then launched a powerful kick to the side of his head, following it up by springing down and landing on his shoulders.

oOo

"Just let me go, Grubin! You won't get away with this!" Elizabeth struggled and dragged her feet, trying to stall her captor as much as she could, banking on the fact that she was far more useful alive than dead. She deliberately swerved into the boxes of excess decorations that had been stored up here temporarily, sending clumps of Pegasus holly, balls of string and rolls of tape flying all over the floor and causing Grubin to stumble and grasp her arm even more tightly.

"We're leaving and you're coming too, like it or not!"

"Through the Jumper bay?" She laughed scornfully. "You can't fly one of those!"

"Rare though it may be," he snarled, jerking her arm again, "there still exist those in this galaxy who are descended from the Ancients."

Elizabeth began to struggle harder, but Grubin ordered Shan to help him and together they carried Elizabeth toward the Jumper bay.

oOo

Verren staggered, trying to throw John off, but John clung on tight, beating Verren about his face and neck. Verren gripped John's wrists and pulled hard and John fell forward, both of them landing on the staircase. John scrambled backward up the stairs, kicking out with his feet, then rolled to one side and, as Verren came at him once more, wrapped an arm round his neck, throttling him. Verren slammed John into the handrail, loosening his grip, and then twisted and clamped his hand around John's throat, pushing him backward over the railings. John struggled to breathe, one hand clawing at the tight grip on his neck, the other trying to deflect Verren's punishing blows to his ribs.

Something yellow worked its way free of Verren's pants pocket: a length of det cord. John snatched it and pulled it out and, letting Verren carry on with his punches and his crushing grip, used both hands to wrap the cord round his opponent's throat. He pulled his improvised garotte tight. Verren abandoned his abuse of John's body and brought both hands to his neck. John slipped further up the stairs, came round behind Verren and twisted the cord, pulling it tighter. Verren's neck was strong and John realised it was going to take more strength than he had to strangle the bullish man. Pulling the cord hard and kicking at Verren's legs, he brought the ends round the top rail and tied them as tightly as he could. Then he pushed Verren's weight hard against the railings, crouched down and powered up under his legs, heaving him over the top. Verren dropped. The cord tightened and stretched. Verren kicked and flailed, his face going red, rasping and choking, foam flying from his mouth. The cord began to part where it was tied and John reached over and grabbed it further down, taking the weight. The kicking became twitching. The twitching became sporadic. John let go.

The cord parted and Verren's body fell onto the stairs below, arms and legs splayed out, face distorted, tongue protruding. _Dead, definitely dead, _John thought, too weary and battered to feel any triumph. He sagged awkwardly onto the stairs, knowing he had to move again, he had to keep pushing through his pain and exhaustion until everyone was safe. He tried to stand but fell back, the muscles around his cracked or broken ribs screaming so that they brought tears to his eyes. "C'mon, John, move!" He tried again and made it to his feet, staggered down the steps and picked up the discarded Beretta. He weaved drunkenly back toward the stairs and then gradually began to climb, the sound of gunshots and screaming above him spurring him on.

oOo

Elizabeth kicked and struggled but couldn't stop the men who were carrying her. They reached the Jumper bay and, as Elizabeth writhed in their grip she saw that the upper hatch was open. She caught a brief impression of a descending shadow against the starlight and then, with a shimmer, it was gone.

oOo

John emerged into the Gateroom, Beretta in his shaking hand. The sound of panicked voices came from the meeting room. One man held a gun on the prisoners while another tried to force the doors closed. John felt ice cold detachment descend. Finally, he could defend his people. He padded silently up the stairs, gun held in suddenly steady hands. Two shots, delivered with surgical precision, and the men were dead.

He stalked forward, the meeting room doors opening fully in response to his presence. His cold eyes fell on Zelenka.

"Dial the Gate. Take everyone to the Alpha Site." Zelenka stared at him. "Do it, now!" The scientist scurried to obey.

"Major!" Carson said, approaching him, hands held out.

John ignored his look of horror and compassion. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"That man, Grubin, took her!" said Grodin. "They were heading for the Jumper bay."

John nodded. "Bates should be here soon. Tell him bomb disposal." John gestured downward. "I've marked the floor," he said, thinking of Verren's corpse. He snatched up the dead mens' weapons. and, forcing his unwilling body into action, crossed the control room and set off up the stairs.

oOo

They wouldn't all fit in the transporter. Rodney waited impatiently as the first batch of Marines went in and then, when the doors opened again, dived in and waited for the remaining Marines to cram in after him.

A white flash, the doors opened, the men spilled out and Rodney was released into the Gateroom. He swung up his laptop as if he were John bringing up his P90. Time for action.

oOo

John checked his weapons as he climbed. One bullet in the Beretta, a very low power pack in one energy weapon, enough for one, maybe two shots. The other was completely empty. He reached the top of the stairs, thinking furiously. What could give him an advantage? He had to lean against the wall every few steps; his adrenaline just wouldn't take him much further. He could feel blood trickling down his arm from the bullet wound and he knew he was leaving a trail of red footprints behind him again.

His eyes fell on a fallen stack of boxes, their contents strewn across the floor. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

oOo

Nothing would obey him! His virus was gone, he couldn't access the Gate, even the lights remained steadily bright. Zav rubbed his eyes and squinted at the screen in front of him, crouching over it as if it held all that was precious to him.

"Aha!" His eyes caught on a flicker, a little line of code that had his name all over it, a nice little remnant of his virus that he could coax into life.

"Come on out and play, little one!" He encouraged. "Let's get Uncle Zav home and safe!"

oOo

Rodney, his laptop held before him in the crook of one arm, smirked wickedly. He had spotted the hallmarks of the attacker's style in a renewed attempt to gain control, and he had laid a tantalising trail, mimicking the pattern of the original piranha; just enough distraction to give him some time. Rodney could tell the man had taken the bait and he tapped at his keyboard, playing the attacker with ease, giving a little here, taking a little there.

Rodney's eyes flicked to another part of his display and he stepped quietly off the staircase and followed the virtual scent down the corridor. He could hear somebody speaking in a coaxing tone.

"There you go, baby, that's right, no, no... okay, try again. Best tech guy in the galaxy, that's me!"

Rodney sneered. He silently shut the lid on his laptop and peered round the threshold of the next room. A man crouched on the floor, a computer of sorts plugged into the dataport.

"Let's try another route..." the man said.

Rodney stepped softly into the room. He had spent hours deeply immersed in the subtlety of Ancient code, gently teasing out the threads and combing them free of tangles and debris as if restoring fine silk. Not only was he extremely angry at the damage caused to Atlantis' systems, but he was also absolutely fed up with the subtle approach.

He drew back both hands as if preparing for a John Sheppard-style golf swing. Then he slammed the edge of the laptop into the side of the man's head. His victim instantly slumped forward to lie in a heap on top of his computer.

"Best tech guy in the galaxy, indeed!" scoffed Rodney, inspecting his laptop and then setting it down on the floor. "Is that the best tag line you've got? Who, me?" he said to the unconscious man, whipping a cable tie out of his pocket and binding the man's wrists. "Oh, well, try 'Supergenius with a dash of strategic violence'. That's me!"

oOo

Elizabeth had been unceremoniously dumped on the floor, while Grubin, standing next to her, gazed at the Jumpers.

"It seems a pity that we can only take one," he said. "They must be worth a fortune!" He scanned the bays. "There's one missing! Where is it?" He glared at Elizabeth, accusingly.

"On the mainland," she replied. His eyes narrowed, suspiciously, then he grabbed her arm again, pulling her up and strode toward the nearest Jumper.

"How do you get this thing open?"

Grubin still held his pistol, Elizabeth noticed, and the other man, Shan, held his energy weapon trained on her. She needed to find a way of moving them out into the open and breaking away from them both. But how? Then, there was a voice, and for a moment Elizabeth didn't know who it belonged to: a voice of pain and anger, determination and almost unbearable weariness.

"Hanz!"

Grubin pulled Elizabeth in front of him and held his pistol to her head.

John stepped out of the shadows into the Jumper bay.

"John?"

He stood, with bare feet, in just his BDU pants, his weight unevenly balanced, one foot clearly badly injured, its bandage soaked through with blood. His left arm was also red with blood, running from what looked like a bullet wound. He was covered in dirt and sweat, cuts and bruises, so that it was virtually impossible to find a clear patch of skin on his face or body. He looked like a man at the end of his rope, a man on the edge, a man who would stop at nothing to protect and defend his own.

"Put down the gun," said Grubin.

"Let her go, Hanz!"

"She's coming with me! Put it down!"

Elizabeth couldn't think of a good end to this scenario. John could take the shot and kill Grubin, but then Shan would shoot John and probably get her too. John would risk his own life without hesitation, but he wouldn't risk hers. She watched, despairing, as he dropped his weapon. He slowly put up his hands. She heard Grubin's soft laugh from behind her and felt the pistol move away from her head as he relaxed.

John looked her straight in the eye and she knew he had a plan. Although he stood, apparently unarmed, his hands raised, this was not the look of a defeated man and she tensed, locking her eyes on his face, conveying her absolute trust, ready to move.

Lightning-fast, John pulled two weapons from behind his back, shreds of sticky tape flying loose, and the simultaneous blast of an energy weapon and the report of a handgun echoed round the bay. Elizabeth felt Grubin jerk behind her, she whipped round and shoved him hard, seeing blood already seeping through his clothes round his shoulder. At the same time she yelled to John, "Stay back!" and spread out her arms to stop him running forward to finish the man.

There was a sudden, resounding boom. Elizabeth closed her eyes and heard a gasp of surprise from behind her.

"You can open your eyes now," John said softly. She did, and the Jumper was decloaked before her, covering the sight of Grubin's crushed body.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The Jumper hatch opened and Ford leapt out, grinning, followed by a rather sick-looking Private Hendricks. "Did you see that? Maxed out the inertial dampeners! Smack!" He slammed a fist into his other hand. Then he slapped Private Hendricks' back in congratulation.

Elizabeth slowly turned to face John, catching sight of Shan, his head partially destroyed by an energy blast. She saw that John was still focussed, still intense. His eyes locked on hers, urgent and determined.

"The tower is wired. We need to make sure everyone's out, it's got to be defused..."

"Sir..."

"...the whole lot's going to blow!"

"Sir!" Ford put a hand on John's arm. "It's okay, Bates is on it."

John whipped round to grip Ford's shoulders. "Are you sure? Is everyone safe? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" assured Ford. "Yes, it came over the radio while we were hovering up there. Everyone's okay."

"Even Kavanagh," said Elizabeth.

"But, they shot him!" said Ford.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Just knocked him out."

John let go of Ford and turned away, his shoulders drooping. He limped a couple of steps and Elizabeth could hear him muttering to himself. He brought one hand up and rubbed at his face, then round the back of his neck and through his hair. She moved up alongside him, nodding her head at Ford to get the other side.

"It's over, it's over..." John was whispering to himself. She couldn't tell whether there were tear tracks on his face amid the blood and dirt.

"John?" He didn't respond. "John!" She touched his face gently, bringing his head round to look into his eyes. "It really is over," she said softly, but firmly.

He gave a tiny nod, then, as she had expected, crumpled to the floor. Elizabeth and Ford supported John, lowering him down carefully. Ford took off his jacket and slid it under John's head and Hendricks took off his and laid it over his shoulders.

"Get Carson," said Elizabeth.

oOo

Elizabeth yawned. After the crisis was over, she had spent the rest of the night receiving damage reports, assessing the the tower's immediate security and, of course, trying to pacify the Faronans. She thought the trade deal that they had agreed upon would stand; it was, after all, the Faronan's lax security that had led to Atlantis' temporary occupation. She wasn't sure what to do with the man, Zav. He could stay in the brig for now; perhaps he would have some useful intelligence about the Wraith.

Elizabeth yawned again. She had retired to her quarters with the first glimmer of dawn and snatched a few hours' sleep, but it wasn't nearly enough. She didn't feel like sleeping now, though. She scanned through the damage reports again; it could have been a lot worse. Elizabeth realised that the trail of destruction marked John's progress through the awful night and wondered how he had survived. She shuddered as she read again the details of the damage to the ventilation shafts. She had gone down there and peered through the hole in the back of the storage room, down the sheer sides and into the apparently endless void. It had made her feel sick.

There was a knock on the doorframe. She looked up.

"Carson, come in, sit down!"

The doctor smiled wearily and collapsed gratefully into an armchair. He didn't relax into it, though, but remained perched on the edge. Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Major Sheppard's going to be okay," said Carson. "Despite his appearance last night, he suffered no permanent damage, according to the Ancient scanner."

Elizabeth felt a knot of tension relax inside her.

"He lost a fair bit of blood, he has a few cracked ribs, some burns, obviously the wounds on his arm and foot as well as numerous other smaller injuries. The internal bruising worried me the most, but, as I said, the scanner showed nothing that won't heal, given time and rest."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Time and rest are important, though. That kind of damage: it's not something you just get up and walk away from."

"Except he did. Repeatedly. Throughout the whole of last night."

Carson shrugged. "Well, that's the Major for you."

"And how is he feeling today?"

"Ah, well." Carson shifted uneasily. "I've got him on a sedative, a painkiller and a muscle relaxant at the moment, so he's not actually feeling anything." Elizabeth's expressive eyebrow came into action again and Carson continued. "All entirely medically necessary! The man'd be rigid with muscle spasms and in a lot of pain without the drugs!"

"Of course, Carson. I know you would never drug a patient unnecessarily, no matter how great the temptation." She smiled. "How long will he be out of action?"

"Well, I'd like to keep him in the infirmary for at least a week."

"Will that be a problem?"

"Bound to be, isn't it?" said Carson, ruefully. "I mean, he heals fast, but never as fast as he thinks he does!"

"Well, we'll just have to think of ways of keeping Major Sheppard entertained, won't we?" She frowned at Carson, who still looked worried. "There's nothing else I should know, is there?"

"Sorry? Oh, no! I was just looking at that thing, or at least, it's looking at me. Staring, actually!"

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the Athosian wood-carving. "It's quite... striking, isn't it?" she said. "I was thinking it'll be useful for keeping visitors in line. I'll present my usual smiling diplomacy and Mr Creepy there can be my... Bad Cop!"

oOo

"Have I missed it?"

Rodney looked up from his laptop at the sound of the rasping voice.

"What?"

"Christmas. Have I missed it?"

"No!" said Rodney, helping John take a sip of water. "No, we just put it on hold."

"Oh. That's good." John shifted slightly in the bed, grimacing, then his eyes closed again. Rodney thought he'd gone back to sleep and returned his attention to his laptop, the glow lighting up his face in the dimness of the night-time infirmary.

"Why did they come?" Rodney shut the laptop and put it down on the next bed. He moved his chair a bit closer to John, inwardly wincing at the sight of his friend's battered features.

"A vault full of treasure!" said Rodney. "Or at least that's what they thought they were getting. Their so-called technical wizard, currently residing in the brig, gave me to understand that they discovered a kind of ancient time capsule, with full plans of Atlantis and promises of a vault stuffed with riches."

"Oh," said John.

"Yes, 'oh', exactly," Rodney agreed. "It makes you wonder what else the Ancients left just lying about the galaxy, waiting for any Tom, Dick or criminal element to make use of."

John blinked a few times, staring into space. _Probably imagining a full range of worst-case scenarios followed by strategies to counter each of them,_ Rodney thought.

"Music," he said, by way of distraction.

"Huh?"

"That's what they found instead. The Ancients' record collection, their hit parade, their all-time, golden-oldie favourites."

"Oh. Cool," John said uncertainly. Rodney saw him start to chew his lip, realise it was already badly split and think better of it. "Any Johnny Cash?"

"Ha, ha. No. You're not even in the right millennium."

"Oh. Still cool, though." John sounded drowsy.

"Very. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"Okay." John's breathing began to slow and deepen once more. Rodney picked up his laptop again. "Can it be Christmas tomorrow, Rodney?"

"If you want it to be."

"Please." Another pause. "Will there be presents?"

"Yes. Go to sleep."

"Can Teyla come?"

"Markham and Ford picked her up earlier. Go to sleep."

"Rodney?"

"Yes?"

"G'night."

oOo

John woke to the pleasing knowledge that at least some of the Atlantis expedition would easily qualify for carrying out black ops. The infirmary had been decorated as he slept, with paper chains, dangling silver stars and even a small tree. Squinting at the paper chains, John recognised that they were made from canned food labels, cut into strips. The silver stars had been cut out of MRE packages, the star on the top of the tree proclaiming, 'Meatloaf'. John eyed the tree suspiciously, remembering Stackhouse's experience, but relaxed when no eyes glared back.

"Merry Christmas, Major!"

"Hey, Carson," said John. "I mean, Merry Christmas!"

"Are you sure you're up to the festivities today, Major?" asked Carson, checking John's vitals. "We could easily wait for another day or two."

"C'mon, Carson. It's Christmas!"

Carson smiled. "If you say so!"

John was less sure that he was going to enjoy the day after he'd limped stiffly to the bathroom and back and then dealt with the frustration of trying to eat breakfast with painful, swollen hands and a sore mouth. His grumpiness faded away, however, when his team arrived.

"Merry Christmas, guys!"

John could usually assess Teyla's mood through the quality of her greeting, although he thought that was probably due to Teyla's projection of her feelings rather than any insightful perception on his part. This time, the lingering touch of their foreheads and the softness of Teyla's breath on his damaged face spoke to him of worry and relief and affection.

"Merry Christmas, Teyla," he murmured.

"Merry Christmas, John," she replied, smiling.

"Glad you're not still pissed at me."

Teyla's smile faded into concern. "I was not angry with you! How could I be, when you have shown once again your willingness to lay down your life for others?"

"Oh, well... huh!" John lapsed into inarticulacy. Rodney rolled his eyes and Ford smirked.

Later, Elizabeth, Zelenka and Grodin arrived and then Bates and some of the Marines, including Private Hendricks, who had become a reluctant celebrity after crushing Grubin beneath the Jumper. John wondered briefly who'd had to do the clean-up and then decided he didn't want to know. Bates was sheepish at first about his ill-advised attempt to access the Control Tower, but John was far too grateful for his skill at having defused the explosives to give him more than a casual reprimand.

Gifts were exchanged, which was interesting, because nobody had much to give, although some had done their best to make things, or gave the last of their candy or chocolate. Food would also have been limited, the few remaining luxury items having been used for the party, but there were still the gifts from the Athosians that Ford had spent most of a night guarding, and Teyla had returned to the City with a couple of large, flightless birds that she'd caught.

By the time the food was set out, John was tired and not particularly hungry, but he was enjoying seeing all the smiling faces and knowing that, for a little while, everyone was safe and happy. Rodney and Elizabeth sat by his bed, plates on their laps. Rodney finished his plateful of assorted meat and licked his fingers with relish. He looked at John consideringly.

"What?" John wondered if he had food on his chin, or something.

"I was just wondering. What you said the other night, when..." He glanced sidelong at Elizabeth. "When you thought... Anyway, have you told her?"

"Told me what?" Elizabeth looked curiously back and forth between the two men.

John squirmed awkwardly. "Oh, um... well, y'know..." He faltered.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sheppard!" said Rodney, rolling his eyes. "I think I'll just leave you to it! This could take a while." He made a beeline for the buffet table.

"What did you want to tell me, John?" Elizabeth's expression was, as usual, open and direct. He met her gaze briefly and then looked down. He rolled the edge of his blanket between his fingertips, wondering if his knuckles were actually still there under all the swelling and feeling somewhat pinned-down by Elizabeth's intense regard.

"John?"

oOo

"I'm sorry," her battered, embarrassed Military Commander said bluntly.

"Oh," she responded.

"And I do. Trust you, that is." His eyes flicked up to her face and then back down.

"Thank you, John." Elizabeth looked at the top of John's bent head, amused that for all his physical agility, he found it so hard to negotiate his way through the process of putting feelings into words. "I trust you too."

He looked up and met her gaze directly. "I know you do," he said. "I could tell. In the Jumper bay. You looked at me and I just knew."

She gave a deep sigh and smiled. "Thank you for saving us, John. Again."

He shrugged and smirked; typical John Sheppard.

"We make a good team."

"That we do, John," agreed Elizabeth.

**A/N: **Thank you for reading! I am always very grateful for any reviews! I hope you all have a happy and peaceful holiday.


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